


The Preserve Asylum

by jaimistoryteller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU central, Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe, Canon Mostly Dismissed, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Family Feels, Gen, Hale Family Feels, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Please Read Author Note, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Scott is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Stilinski Family Feels, Yes I Put Both Tags On Purpose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller
Summary: According to Stiles, sometimes coming from a family of Seers sucks, other times, it can be a serious blessing. It all depends on the day.Peter doesn't know what the hell is going on. One minute he is abandoned and trapped screaming in his mind, the next things are changing.Deucalion isn't sure what to make of the kid who just shows up out of the blue but isn't actually a kid and is about to change everything about his life. Dramatically.Chris is a bit lost as his family doesn't seem to be who he thought they were. It makes things tricky for him.Lydia just wants to know what the hell is going on, one day Stiles is her constant competition and has a massive crush on her, the next everything is changing and she doesn't like it. Until she does.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Deucalion/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 230
Kudos: 1086





	1. Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* hi all, it's been a long while, life has been well not good, lets stick with that. My muse has been chattering at me about this for a week. I have no idea where it will go over all, or how long it will take, considering my life. Still, it wants to be shared, so here it is, at least the prologue. Comments are love and often inspire more writing. 
> 
> This isn't my normal sort of story, as the tags pretty much attest, while also being completely within my normal bounds, because of course my brain is a mess like that.
> 
> Character Death - none of the ones named die, but there will be deaths going on.
> 
> Ships will probably change as I go, mostly likely added to, rather than taken away. Since I have scenes for each of those already mentioned partly written in my notes. So yep.

Stiles' POV

The knock at the door startles him enough shake him from the stress cleaning he's been doing since waking up crying two hours ago alone in the house. His dad is at work. Again. He probably shouldn't be alone but he couldn't handle going to Scott's last night. It was the one year anniversary of the Fire, the day he lost his dad as surely as he had his mom despite the fact his dad was still alive.

Rubbing his eyes, he stumbles to the door, opening it without bothering to check who is there. 

"Blessed be, Mieczyslaw," a stocky stranger murmurs, surprisingly pronouncing his name right. "I am Bazyli Baran. I am here to deliver your inheritance and instructions letter."

He blinks, rubbing his eyes again as he tries to make sense of it all. How? Why? What is the stranger -- Bazyli -- speaking of? Numbly, he side steps and waves the man in, even as his mind cycles through so many potential dangers. Rapid fire images and sounds, pieces of time that might not happen.

He hates how much often it's been happening since his mom's death. He'd trade his gifts and abilities to get her back. Particularly since they have become so much more since then. There was so much she never got to teach him. 

"I apologize for taking so long to get here," Bazyli states, lips down turned. "I forgot how time can move differently."

Time moves differently? Well, yeah, he can see it, things have been horribly slow since his mom died. Everything seems to pass as if in ice water and dragging. 

“Ahem, apologies,” Bazyli mumbles as he sets his carrier bag down on the kitchen table. “Is there something in particular you’d like to be referred to as, Mieczyslaw?” 

He nods, throwing himself onto a chair. “I’m Stiles,” he answers, closing his eyes as more visions dance across his eyes. 

When he opens his eyes, he notices three piles of papers, though the paper is odd, old fashion looking. 

Settling in the chair across from him, Bazyli picks up the pile to the furthest left, rubbing his nose for a moment before beginning to read. 

“In the event that Klaudia Gajos, known among the mortal world as Claudia Stilinski nee Gajos dies prior to the Arson of Wolves, her son, the first male of the Gajos line, Mieczyslaw Stilinski is to receive the second package and all that it included within. Bazyli Baran, of the Tatra Mountains is to deliver the documentionation and package, ensuring that all parts are completed to the best of Mieczyslaw Stilinski’s ability.” 

He blinks at the message, missing the rest of the letter as another wave of visions strikes. He’s never had this many in such a short period of time. Whatever is in that package, and how many others are there if this is the second, is life altering in some form. 

“Stiles?” there is worry in the man’s tone as his name is repeated, though he doesn’t know how many times he missed. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, wishing for a cup of chocolate milk as he rubs his face, barely noticing when a cool glass is pressed into his hands.

"Not to be concerned, Stiles, your grandmother does the same at times when choices are fluctuating quickly." Bazyli informs him.

He should ask about her. Later. Right now he needs to know what the package is and how many other options there were. The middle pile of papers has been pushed towards him. He tugs them the rest of the way over, blinking as the letters move before his eyes. 

What?

When they finally settle, he blinks at their brightness. This is something his mom was supposed to teach him. Maybe she did in a different life. Seeing has always been part of his life, just as it was part of hers. Does this have to do with his Sight? 

The top parchment is simple, it's an explanation of events that lead to why he's ten years old, sitting at his table with a weird man and weirder documents. The second tells him of the Arson of Wolves. He feels slow because it takes too long to realize that it means the Hale Fire.

Wolves? He's had visions of wolf shifting people, is that what it refers to? Are they werewolves or something else? He never thought of approaching to ask with everything going on. All those poor people...werewolves or not, dying like that. He hates that night, exactly one year before. 

His sobbing as they died is what finally broke what was left of his relationship with his dad.

The third page is actually instructions to build a new pack home and suggestions for what he might need in it. Oh. Wait, why?

The last page before the sealed envelope at the bottom answers that. It's a letter from an unknown woman to him, as his fingers brush against the writing, he Sees what happened as she wrote it out.

The dark haired woman had cried, ruby eyes gleaming as she did so. There is something desperate to her quick pen strokes, how her body trembled and swayed in place.

> — Stiles,  
>  I hope you'll accept this task, even knowing it will take years to finish. My beautiful son aches, burned and abandoned. I'm terrified of what can happen if left with no one. We're not meant to be solitary. Please be there for him. Help him heal. He took after his father as enforcer, he's still good. Pure in a way that's hard to explain with a letter. He's been wronged, betrayed by those he cares for. Help him please.  
>  Blessed be,   
>  Esther Hale —

Glaring at the paper, he wants to complain he’s only ten! How’s he supposed to help anyone? 

Except… he helps his dad every day. He cleans to the best of his ability, even though it’s tricky to focus. He’s learning to cook to make sure there is something to eat rather than cereal and junk food, never would he have guessed before his mom died that he’d tire of junk food, but he has. He’s always a head on homework, getting it done in spurts between everything else, as he bounces between projects and his focus goes everywhere. 

Maybe he can help. Just a little.


	2. Soft Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being trapped in his mind sucks, just ask Peter.

Peter’s POV

Fire and lightning race along every nerve. His skin is too tight, confining, unnatural. No matter how hard he focuses, he cannot move. He cannot speak. Nothing. He’s not healing. Why is he not healing? 

For the first time in his life he can’t feel his wolf. Why can’t he feel his wolf? What has happened to him that his wolf is so quiet? It’s unsettling. Terrifying in a way he can’t put into words. At no other point in his life, can he remember being without that presence, that instinct guiding him. 

Pain is constant. Pulsing and ever changing. A steady throb beneath the surface. His skin is hypersensitive to _everything_. The burns and areas where the muscles are exposed are worse. It feels as if there are thousands of pins pricking his skin constantly. Each shift of the air sends electricity through his exposed nerves. 

He doesn’t know how long he drifts like that, trapped within his own mind. Full of pain and anger. Reaching for bonds no longer there. Where is everyone? What happened? Flickers of memory are just out of grasp. Flashing like fireflies and reflections on the surface of his favorite lake. Distorted and broken as if reflected by pieces of shattered mirror.

Often it is unfamiliar hands that touch and move him. He'd flinch away if he could. He doesn't want strangers touching him. Why isn't he with the pack? How did he end up here? Where is his alpha? 

Talia might have issues with exactly how direct he can be, when not being subtle and indirect as possible, but she'd never abandon him. Right? Why he can't feel her? He can't feel any of them.

His throat aches with the urge to scream and howl as a wave of heat washes over him. Terrifyingly familiar as if it will become far worse heat. It never does but that doesn’t stop the terror that tenses every muscle and sinew. The pain of bones fracturing under the pressure. 

Never would he have thought cool air would be as relieving as it is when the heat fades away. 

How did this happen? There was a fire, that much he’s certain of, particularly with how his body feels. What else? Who survived? Who died? Why is he so alone? Where is his pack? His family? Where is he at?

Minutes turn into day and days to weeks. Bit by bit pieces of memory return. With memory is blinding rage and heartbreaking sorrow. Bone deep loneliness as he realizes exactly how many of his pack bonds are gone. Shattered and broken with their deaths. There are only three left. All of which are weak and barely there. 

His alpha _abandoned_ him. How? Why? 

As time passes, it doesn’t matter any longer. No longer are their bonds anchoring him to this world. Part of him wishes to die, to give up and allow himself to let go. To join those who he failed so horribly. The stronger part of him demands revenge. He will destroy those who harmed his pack, his family, those he loved. His love might have been muted compared to the others, but that makes it no less real. 

Slowly he feels his wolf once more. The urge to hunt, seek, find, destroy itching beneath his skin. He’s trapped, unable to move, unable to fully wake, biding his time. He will heal, somehow, despite the odds. 

More time passes, his only company the nurses and doctors who physically care for him. None of which know him or take the time to speak to him. A few have even made comments about their shock that he lived, and mused about what sort of life he will have with his body so badly damaged if he ever wakes up. He wants to snarl at them but can’t. 

The damage to his body is extensive. His right ear is completely useless as it continuously hums. He's never heard of a werewolf with tinnitus before but he's moderately sure that's exactly what he's currently dealing with. His eyes are still shut as he cannot force himself from the coma, he’s too weak from his injuries. It doesn’t stop him from being able to hear everything, even if he often tunes it out. 

Until the day he doesn’t. 

Fingers feather along his hand, curious, gentle, stroking as quiet words draw his attention. 

"It will be okay," echoes through his senses despite how softly it is said by a young voice. "You're not alone anymore. I'm here."

That's not true. He might be trapped in his body, but he can still feel his pack bonds. Or, more like in this case, his lack of bonds. There's no one left. He's so damned alone. Abandoned when he needs his family most of all.

The feathery touches switch to his other hand. Barely feelable as they trace his scars and burns. His shame and failure. He despises it. It makes him feel, long, wish for history to be different. His sister failed to protect their pack but so did he. If only he had been stronger, faster, smarter, more cunning. Had he not allowed his emotions to get the best of him about his nephew and the human girl he wanted. 

This is his fault as much as it is Talia's. That leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

"I don't know the right words." The voice breaks, trembling, filling with sadness, an erratic heart beat pounding louder than the speaker. "I never do. But I need you to know you're not alone. It's not your fault."

For the first time since the first his wolf feels something other than the deep desire for revenge. The voice must be wrong. If he had done his job as Talia's left, none of this would have happened. It's all his fault.

"It's not your fault!" Both his hands are gripped firmly, securely in slender, small fingers. Child’s fingers. 

He aches to open his eyes. To see who it is that doesn't blame him. The first person not on medical staff to come near or touch him. Yet no matter how hard he tries, he can't force himself to respond or react. Nothing. He can’t even take a deeper breath to determine whether the voice belongs to a human, wolf, or some other supernatural.

He's trapped. Helpless. Useless.

"It's not your fault!" The voice insists, fingers tightening. "It's hers, theirs, those who tricked a child and harmed an innocent and killed a wolf without cause!" 

His senses are flooded with emotion, overwhelmed by it all. Yet like the words he can only process them as if they're an echo. Who does the voice refer to? He should know the answer. The words together should make sense yet aren’t.

Her. Theirs. Those who tricked a child. Harmed an innocent. Killed a wolf without cause. None of those are him, and he’s moderately sure the first is not his sister. How he knows that he cannot say. 

"It's not your fault, Peter." The voice whispers, hands slipping up his arms, palms flattening against his wrists, energy arcing between them.

His world implodes as a new bond unlike any he's ever felt snaps into place. It's as if every bond he's ever felt before pales in comparison. Warmth spreads from the point of contact at his wrists, down into his fingers and up into his torso, his pain fades into euphoria, becoming nothing more than a background hum. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Those words echo through his mind as he drifts off to sleep. For the first time since the fire he doesn’t fight the urge. The new bond pulses, giving him something to focus on rather than the situation. He doesn’t even know the name of the young voice. 

Soon though, he’ll heal and protect them the way he failed to protect his pack. They’re _his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you people who left me comments on the last chapter are wonderful, and marvelous, and perfect. All you peeps who left kudos are great, and excellent, and awesome. I'll answer the comments on chapter 1 after a nap. 
> 
> I am having a horrible day, (technically a lot longer than that, but who's counting?), and would appreciate anyone who could share my GoFundMe posts on [tumblr](https://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/post/189592552988/click-here-to-support-bills-and-medical-purposes) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jaimist0/status/1204455989547872256).


	3. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being betrayed and then dealing with fae is not how Deucalion expected his day to go.

Deucalion’s POV

He snarls, throwing Marco across the room, dead. 

How dare his beta attack him! How dare that unworthy wolf try to take his alpha spark! Power rushes through him. Each of his senses becomes just a bit sharper. Perhaps he shall kill them all. Kill each of his traitorous betas and take their power, their lives. They don’t deserve them for the betrayal. They betrayed him as surely as Marco did by not stopping the traitor in their mists. 

He turns to Luna, the closest beta, planning to rip her heart out when the air changes. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” a girl’s voice drifts through the air, everywhere and nowhere. “I’m supposed to bring you home. I can’t if you go and do something that should earn you death.”

He spins, the only wolf who seems capable of hearing or moving. Yet what should take less than a breath takes far longer. 

“You shall sleep, until it’s time to wake, sane once more and home where you belong,” the voice draws closer, though he still can’t find who is speaking. 

Roaring, he lashes out with his claws, determined to find and destroy the girl. 

Laughter surrounds him. Taunting and teasing him as he tries to locate the source. 

“Poor little alpha wolf, can’t find one little sprite.”

A sprite? Why would a sprite be taking him home? What home? His pack has betrayed him!

Freezing in place, he calms himself enough to ask, “What do you want in exchange for leaving?” Not that he’ll actually allow the sprite to leave. He will kill anyone and anything that gets in his way. 

That laughter continues, “You have nothing of interest, little wolf. Behave and I’ll make it easy on you.” 

There is a bit of a gleam to the left in front of him. Claws extending, he dives at it.

That's the last thing he knows as he connects with something soft, surrounding him and holding him. All emotions drain out as he the magic takes hold.

\------oOo------

Stiles' POV

He's at the hospital visiting with Peter when the air seems to shimmer around him. It tingles, causing him to giggle as a tiny figure appears, small wings beating slowly by the window. 

"Blessed be," they greet him with a wide smile, sharp teeth on display. "I found the would be demon wolf. He's sleeping in between for now."

Speckles dances in his mind, pieces of images merging and floating, changing and morphing. New possibilities arise from this, all of them better than what happened during any of his original visions. 

"You're awesome," he replies, smiling back. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls the jar of honey he bought for the small sprite during his last shopping trip and holds it out. 

Their tiny body wiggles, the beating of wings speeding up as they zoom over to him, taking the bottle that's nearly their size and vanishing with a pop. He knows he'll see them again when it's time to deal with the demon wolf the rest of the way.

Shaking his head, he turns his focus back to Peter. "I dunno if you heard them," he murmurs, petting the burned hand carefully, "they caught the demon wolf. Helped stop the terror he'd cause. I know I'll have to um, talk to, something, him later. Not right now. Right now I'm more worried about you."

His fingers stroke higher up, following the burn marks. When he realizes the texture has changed, he stops talking to glance down. There's healing, he thinks, finally. Does that mean it's working? That'd be great! He's looking forward to Peter waking up. 

"Look! You're healing!" He dances in place, still touching the slowly changing skin. It's amazing to see. 

Everything he's been learning since Bazyli showed up at his front door a few weeks prior has been amazing. There's no other words for it. It distracts and fascinates him. Gives him something to look forward to whenever Scott isn't feeling good. He should see if there's anything he can do to help his best friend.

"That's good," he doesn't know what to say. "You'll heal, and wake up, and we'll be friends, and pack. I'm still learning what that means. Bazyli and Cody and Dreambells have all been helping me learn. Cody is a hummingbird. I didn't know that were people could be hummingbirds. Stories only talk of wolves like you. Did you know a hummingbird pack is called a flight? Humans call them a charm or mob, which is funny. Cause why use those words?"

The door to Peter's room opens, "Stiles, it's time to go," Melissa states. 

"I'll be back tomorrow. Though I gotta do a report too. So you'll get to hear all about sharks! Sleep well Peter." He tells the wolf, lightly squeezing the arm beneath his fingers before letting go to grab his things.

He's barely stepped out of the room when Scott comes running over, wheezing. "You're having dinner with us tonight! We can play Batman!" 

"Yeah!" He agrees, chatting happily about the newest episodes with his best friend as they walk to the door. When he spots the cruiser passing, he frowns, "Dad's on another night shift."

Melissa runs a hand over his head, "It'll be alright, we'll make him a plate to drop off, okay?"

Nodding, he gives her a quick hug. "Thank you." He won't say that to most of the faeries because his mom used to say that can be dangerous, but he doesn't have a problem saying it to his sort of aunt. 

Is there a way he can help them? Things are sometimes rough with Scott having a hard time breathing, and the medical bills. Even if he's not supposed to know about them, he's too familiar with the problems they can cause because of what happened with his mom. Besides, it's not like his dad bothers to hide that stuff from him. Melissa tries but he's too curious for his own good most the time. 

He'll have to ask Bazyli the next time he gets a chance. Right now he's gonna focus on his best friend and their sleepover. He's looking forward to a good cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you of you people are wonderful, seriously wonderful. Thank you for reading, commenting, and kudos. All of the love has helped make a rather crappy week better, gave the muse a reason to hyper focus for a bit, and just is great.


	4. Records

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets some unexpected news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, you might have noticed that there are multiple POVs going on, eventually it will get to a point where it is primarily Stiles, with the others only chattering occasionally as a main, that's not until they are all in the same general area however.

Chris’ POV

He’s on a hunt in Okanogan County, Washington State, when he gets word that his father, sister, and multiple cousins have been arrested. All of them are in jail waiting trial for arson and murder of the Hale family in Beacon Hills. 

It sends a shiver down his spine but he puts it out of his mind. Victoria is already head of the family and will update him when he needs to be. 

More likely than not, the Hunter’s Council will get them off, particularly if it was a justified killing. Just because he hasn’t heard of them breaking any codes in years doesn’t mean his family couldn’t have discovered something while he was away. 

It’s almost six months later and multiple trials missed because of work later that he realizes the Council hadn’t got them off. They hadn’t helped his family at all. So they must not have judged it to be a justified hunt.

The only thing the Council did is make sure that his family beastaries and journals vanished from lock up. That they were returned to Victoria is normal. Or so he thought at first. 

Victoria surprises him when he gets back from his most recent hunt by assigning them to him. She wants him to go through each of them and compile information on every single hunt and kill that has been completed in the last twenty years. Apparently while he was gone the Council came down on her as head of the Argent Clan. 

It doesn’t matter that she’s only headed the family for the last two years or that they don’t live in the family complex. As the head of the family, she should know whether they have broken code and how badly, then put a stop to it if so. She's also responsible for any reparations to the survivors and community at large. 

She doesn’t take that well. 

So they move to Beacon Hills and the compound there. Allison is enrolled in school as it will take time to sort that many years of paperwork.

It takes him six months to go through his sister’s journals and records only. There’s multiple times he has to shove away from his desk. Take a break to go for a run or work out, even once where he asked Victoria to find him somewhere else to be for a few days. She doesn’t take that well either. 

The tight press of her lips and frost in her eyes says far more than her words. 

He makes it a point to show her the entries that bothered him despite his training before leaving. According to those who live in the compound, she spends three days in the firing range after that and then proceeds to update the family training. Everyone, no matter how long they’ve been hunting, are forced to take it. Those who don’t discover why that’s a bad idea for their health as she doesn’t allow for rogue hunters within their ranks. Not with the Council breathing down her neck. 

Two weeks into working through his father’s journals and records, he is notified as next of kin of his father’s death. Apparently he died in his sleep awaiting trial since the first was a hung jury. While unexpected, there is no sign of foul play in the autopsy. His father wasn't a young man, so it is believable that it was natural.

It’s not even a week after that he gets word his sister died, shanked in the lunch line at the prison. Considering her personality, it’s not overly shocking, she’s always been good at rubbing people the wrong way. The investigation shows it was provoked by earlier actions, including a fight where she had nearly killed a different inmate. 

He might have thought it was odd but a coincidence if not for the fact it was the beginning. After that it seems like all of his cousins, each of the hunters who were part of Hale Fire dies. Not a one of them can be proven to be anything other than accidents, natural, or provoked through other problems. 

"I don't like this." He mutters to the air as he hangs up his phone, having got word of the most recent death. 

"Nor do I." Victoria announces as she enters the room. "There's been another one. Both Williamson and Anders died today. They make the ninth and tenth of our family to die. In the last month. There's only two left from the arrest related to the Fire."

Frowning, he considers who could be picking the hunters off while behind bars as it's extremely rare for supernatural beings to be locked in human prisons and jails. 

"We will need to make reparations, if there are any left to do so." Victoria hesitates on reparations, nose twitching in disgust. 

He's well aware that she, like many other hunters, hates the practice of paying back for mistakes. They don't feel that the supernatural community deserves it or are people. At one time he might have agreed, but as he's gotten older and as he goes through the books left by his family, he's started questioning it. 

"Christopher, you're not paying attention." His wife snaps, eyes narrow on him. 

Shaking his head, he replies, "I will look into who's left and how to contact them."

"Good," she nods once, expression lightening though no one would call it warm. "Don't forget tomorrow is Allison's parent and teacher conferences."

"Okay," he smiles, that's at least one thing right in his life: his daughter. His marriage is questionable at best, since they've grown apart as his beliefs changed and hers stayed ridgely the same. His blood family is dead, all dying after this fire, though from what he's found, that was only their latest sin, and probably not their worst ones. That's completely terrifying to consider. While other family members he's grown distant from because of a change in his beliefs. 

He's supposed to hunt and stop the monsters. Yet his own family was worse than so many of those he hunted. That'll take some time to wrap his brain around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you wonderful readers for the kudos, comments, and reading! You're awesome on so many levels, I really appreciate the support as it has made a rather crappy week better. It's definitely been a reminder why I love fandom.


	5. New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Allison meet each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline wise this takes place before the first 4 chapters, no clue why the muse insisted this has to be shown

Lydia's POV 

Sometimes it's really boring pretending to be average when she's anything but. If she didn't want to fit in, she wouldn't bother. She's the smartest kid in the school. The only one to come close is the overly energetic Stiles. 

Tapping her pencil lightly against her palm, she glances over at him with a frown. Up until a few weeks ago he was predictable. His best friend is the severe asthma case, he used to be friends with Jackson, though she's uncertain what ended the friendship, and he had a ridiculous ten year plan to win her. As if she's a toy to be won. Then he came to school a bit distracted, nothing overly abnormal there, only he's been _different_ since. No longer does he bring up the ten year plan or try impressing her randomly.

"Class, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to our newest friend, Allison Argent." The teacher announces as a pretty girl with dark hair in a high ponytail stops at the front of the class. "Go ahead and find a spot to sit down, Allison."

"Thank you ma'am," the new girl murmurs, heading towards her and the empty see right in front of her. 

There's something familiar about the name, at least the last name, though she can't think of what. She hadn't known any Argents that she remembers. 

Allison Argent, she repeats, watching the new girl. There's something about her. An instinct that tells her that Allison could be a great friend or a major problem. She'd rather they be friends. She doesn't have too many of those. Most seem to be scared of her intelligence and if she's not mistaken, Allison is almost as intelligent as she is. 

As the day goes on, she picks up little details about the other girl, such as the fact she's ambidextrous with left hand preference, prefers to write in blue pen, has surprisingly clean handwriting, and enjoys doodling on the edge of classwork. By lunch time, she decides to invite the new girl to sit with her. There's only one problem with that plan, she doesn't actually see Allison at lunch time. Which is weird. Where'd she go?

After lunch, they're seated together again as they work on math, rather boring math at that.

"Where'd you go at lunch?" She asks as she decoratively writes her answers out.

"My parents wanted to have lunch with me," Allison answers after a bit, doodling little birds down the edge of her paper. "They're worried because of everything going on."

"Oh?" She hums, wanting to know what's going on. She likes being in the know and collecting information for fun. It is handy knowing the details. 

"Family problems," the new girl mutters, looking at the sketch she's working on sadly. 

Family problems? Argent...Oh! That family on trial for the deadly fire. Allison is related to them? That could definitely lead to issues if some of the more snide kids realized. "That sucks," she replies as she considers what she knows of the situation.

"Yeah." 

The conversation dies, leaving them to finish their math in silence.

At the end of the day, she stops Allison from leaving immediately to give the new girl her phone number and email. "We should have a girl’s night."

Brown eyes widening as Allison stares at her a small frown twitching the corners of her lips.

"Lydia Martin," she thrusts a hand at the new girl impatiently. Didn't they cover this earlier?

"Hi," the hand's accepted in a firm grip. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Perfect, talk to your parents, have them call mine or whatever." She declares, dropping her hand. "Mom will be pleased I've invited a girl over."

Laughing, Allison nods, "Mine probably will be happy I got an invite too. She wants me to fit in. Not just be the new girl."

"See? Perfect." She grabs her stuff, "See you tomorrow!"

"Bye Lydia!" 

"Come on Lydia! Mom's waiting for us!" Jackson yells from the door, almost stomping.

Rolling her eyes, she waves as she walks towards her long time friend, already planning what will be done on the girls night and how to get more information on the Argent family.

\------oOo------

Allison's POV

She doesn't want to go to a new school. Definitely not one in the same town her grandpa, aunt, and multiple cousins are on trial for murder in. She's certain it's going to be horrible, completely terrible. No way will it go all right. Her parents make her a deal: if it doesn’t go right by lunch time, she can come home and start school after the trials. 

Only it doesn't seem to go anywhere near as bad as she expects. 

She picks a spot near a pretty girl with beautiful red hair and mischievous gray eyes who looks bored. 

Apparently the girl she picked, Lydia, is the head of their grade. Not far behind her is Stiles, though the other kids seem to avoid him, too much energy and zero filter. Not that he seems to notice as he chatters animatedly with a boy that has messy hair and a bit of a cough. 

Lydia doesn’t introduce herself, simply starts talking to her between projects and assignments. There’s the potential for friendship, though she doesn’t understand why she doesn’t get a hello. Maybe that’s part of the local culture? She sure doesn’t know. 

At lunch time her parents pick her up for a meal, they eat together in their car, discussing how her days going so well. They’re happy that her days going better than she expected. In some ways it’s going better than they did too, as no one has brought up the trial and asked her what her connection to it is. Of course, there’s still more day to go.

When she asks how they are, she recognizes their expressions, even if they are mostly masked. Both frustrated, but neither are willing to talk about it. That means it has to do with her aunt or grandpa, possibly both, as that’s one of the few things they refuse to discuss with her. 

After lunch, she rejoins her class, surprised when Lydia asks where she was, and indicates missing her. It’s confusing, they haven’t even been introduced yet, why would the most popular girl in school miss her? 

The rest of their day is relatively quiet compared to the rest of it, as if her having family issues to deal with is a reason not to talk. 

A series of quick glances to her unexpected companion tells her that it’s not judgement keeping the silence, simply distraction and racing thoughts. 

She’s got her things ready to go before the bell rings, but barely gets to stand before brightly painted nails shine against the dark material of her jacket. A slip of paper thrust at her and a wide smile accompanying them much to her confusion. 

“We should have a girl’s night.”

She frowns, glancing between the bright nails and their owner, wondering about the fact they haven’t even been introduced yet. That thing at the beginning with the teacher doesn’t really count, does it?

Frustration and amusement flash through gray eyes as the hand that had offered the paper is held out for her to grasp. “Lydia Martin.” 

A chuckle bubbles up, though that’s probably the wrong reaction. “Hi,” she shakes the other girl’s hand firmly. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Besides having girl’s nights with cousins, she’s never had one before. No one at her old school wanted to do that sort of thing, even if she was fairly popular if only for being smart. 

“Perfect!” Lydia grins, expression changing like a flash of lightning. “Talk to your parents, have them call mine or whatever.” A hand waves around a bit. “Mom will be pleased I’ve invited a girl over.”

Does that mean that the red head normally invites boys instead? Do her parents _let her?_ Are they family maybe? Is that one of those things to ask about at a girl’s night that isn’t family?

Laughing, she nods, "Mine probably will be happy I got an invite too.” She programs the number and email into her phone. “She wants me to fit in. Not just be the new girl."

"See? Perfect." Lydia grabs her things, not having collected them before the bell for some reason. "See you tomorrow!"

She’s still laughing as she bids, "Bye Lydia!" 

"Come on Lydia! Mom's waiting for us!" a brown haired boy yells from the door, almost stomping as he glares at them. Her, actually, not the girl she’s with. Who’s that and what’s his problem? She doesn’t remember seeing him today. Maybe he’s in a different class? Whatever, he’ll get over whatever’s bugging him. 

Whistling, she heads out to the waiting car and launches into telling her dad all about the fact that she seems to have made a friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore all of you wonderful peeps and the many comments, hearts, and kudos! You all are great. I've even been working on little bits of my Wolf & Fae (Derek/Stiles as soulmates) world, so maybe it will have an update sooner than later. All cause of the support shown here. 
> 
> Also working on my second novel for publishing.


	6. Sick Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has an unexpected visitor while Stiles is at the hospital to spend time with him, so Stiles tries to help out.

Stiles’ POV

He chatters about shark facts as he reads the book he’s currently gathering information out of. Occasionally pausing to muse about whether there are any weresharks, if they’d be like werewolves, and what would happen if they happened to do the full moon on land? So far he hasn't Seen any but that doesn't mean much.

Sometimes he’s certain Peter can hear him and is rolling soft blue eyes at him, other times he’s sure that’s simply his imagination. 

A lot of times he absently runs his fingers over the burn damage as he reads, the varying textures soothing, though he’s sure his wolf would disagree with that. It allows him to track the healing, help with it via contact, which Bazyli has reassured him is necessary, and helps him focus. 

He’s just finished one of his tangents about weresharks when there is a tap at the room window. 

Pausing, he glances over, seeing a rather unfamiliar fae person knocking energetically. 

“Uh, I’m gonna see who that is,” he mutters, setting the book and his notepad aside.

When he opens the window, the little being enters, landing on the windowsill and panting. “Blessed be,” they greet him, glancing around. “You wouldn’t know where this territory’s guardian pack is, would you?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he waves towards the bed. “Sleeping currently. Maybe I can help?”

They hop back and forth on their feet, rapidly tapping their long fingers together as they stare at him with wide eyes. Then they fly around him, studying him from every angle, tugging on his clothing and ears, peering in his eyes, before landing on the windowsill once more. 

“You have magic, meybe, possibly, I don’t know. The Tree is sick.” They babble, still jittering. “It’s poisoning the land and all the beings in it.”

He nods, blinking, even though he doesn’t know what tree they’re talking about. Only that the way they are saying tree means it’s not an ordinary tree. “I can see if there is anything I can do?” He offers even as his mind is assaulted with images of a stump crying in pain. Why would a stump be in pain? Isn’t it already dead at that point? Or is that the reason it’s in pain?

“That would be wonderful! The woods just haven’t been the same since the Tree got sick.” They dance before fly off, a “Be careful!” tossed over their shoulder. 

He rubs his face, closing the window and considering what to do. If the tree is sick, why hasn’t someone helped it? Surely there must be someone nearby who can? Although, he glances at Peter, what if that was something the Hale Pack took care before the fire? Is the fire part of what made the tree sick or was the tree getting sick part of what doomed the pack?

Hopefully Bazyli will be able to help him figure it out, or find someone who can. 

Sighing, he walks back over to where he has all his papers scattered and starts picking them up. “I’m gonna have to cut today’s visit short. I’ll be back tomorrow though, promise! I don’t know how much you heard, but there is apparently a sick tree and it’s affecting the local fae, and probably wild life, so I’m gonna see if I can help it. Or find someone who can help it. There’s got to be someone, right? I’m hoping that Bazyli, the dwarf who is helping me learn about my inheritance and rebuild the pack home can provide some useful facts.”

Once everything is ready to go, he tosses his pack over his shoulder, reaching out to grasp Peter’s hands before running his palms up to press just above the wrists like he does every time before he leaves. He doesn’t know if the wolf feels the energy that arcs between them when he does that, but he does, and it feels nice. Hopefully it feels nice for Peter too. 

He bikes home, waving at the deputy that drives past slowly. 

When he gets home, he heads directly to his room, tosses his pack on his desk chair, and grabs the communication bowl that Bazyli gave him. 

He's still getting used to using it, as he doesn't quite understand why the dwarf doesn't simply get a cell phone. 

Once he's put water in the bowl, he debates whether to do the communication there in the bathroom or go back to his room. There's advantages to both, including the fact that he can get more comfy in his room. Right then, that's what he'll do. 

"Blessed be, Stiles, is something wrong?" Bazyli answers almost immediately. 

"Blessed be, Bazyli," he replies, still working on getting the greeting down. Most of the time he doesn't use it, but when it's related to needing help he does. "I had a small fae person inform me there is a 'sick tree' and that it is making the rest of the area sick as well. They were looking for the Hale Pack to help it."

“I take it you’ve Seen something about it?” the dwarf murmurs thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” images of the tree stump are still dancing within his mind.

“Right then! We shall look for it when we look for the tree, I will speak with your grandmother to see if she has any advice on how to find it.” Bazyli announces.

“Cool,” he hums, wondering not for the first time why his grandmother doesn’t visit him. Does it have anything to do with living in the fae realm or is it something else? One of these days he’ll ask, but there’s so much else going on, he hasn’t felt like he should. For now, he’ll get his homework done again so he doesn’t have to worry about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore all you wonderful peeps. I do, whether you just pop in to leave hearts, worded comments, or kudos, you're great. I have had more fandom inspiration for this fic, and my other Teen Wolf stuff (plus a little Labyrinth cause lets face it Jareth and Peter would have a blast sassing each other. ahem.) from you all taking the time to interact, and it's _**wonderful!**_
> 
> Random aside: I plotted out and wrote scenes and pieces for over 20 chapters in this story yesterday, I have a feeling this will end up around 130 going off the fact it's giving me a [ Different Paths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576473/chapters/19663888) (Alec Trevelyan/Q/James Bond triads soulmate verse) sort of time spanning Vibe and even some feels...


	7. Dreams of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Peter dreams.

Peter's POV 

When Stiles isn't around, he tends to drifts in bit of a waking dream. He's aware of what's going on around him, or would be if he paid attention. Instead he focuses on imagining what the new pack home will be like. His young pack mate has made it a point to keep him up to date on what's going on with the building.

It's not on the site of the original pack home. Instead it's a little up the driveway, still well within the woods. From how Stiles has described the location, it's where the training clearing use to be. 

Only, from the sounds of it, the new home will be bigger, yet no trees have been removed. He's not exactly sure how that will work. The house will either be odd shaped or the trees will be worked into the design. Considering the fact that it's a team of fae and dwarves making it, that's all together possible. 

He longs to ask why Stiles decided to work with fae and dwarves, but hasn't managed to come out of the coma enough to do so. His current theory is that they do not question why a child is in charge of such a project the way humans, wolves, and a lot of other supernatural beings would have. 

With each room finished, his young pack mate describes them in detail, sometimes repeatedly. Not that he minds, he loves the excitement and joy he gets through their bond. How the air warms in the best ways, smelling of happiness. The racing beat of the young man's heart, that taps out a song luring him back to the world of waking slowly.

The new pack home sits on a base of dwarven cut stone, blessed to protect all who live within the bounds. Each brick is made of white cream to gold marble, carefully fitted together to make a solid foundation and basement that extends out further than the house itself. 

The floor of the first floor is made up of polished mountain ash and golden oak. When he first heard that, he wanted to groan, as mountain ash is used as a weapon against were races. Stiles noticed his distress, probably through the small pack link, and reassured him it's perfectly safe for their pack and family. Not only will it be resistant to fire, but it will keep enemies out, allowing only those who mean the pack no harm to enter. 

As the pack's enforcer he knows a lot of ways that mountain ash can be used as a weapon and threat, so he's reserving judgement for now. He simply hopes that Stiles isn't wrong. 

Although, with fae making it, there is a strong chance that it's not plain mountain ash like druids and mages use, but Spirit World, Underhil, or Between mountain ash which obeys only those who live with it. Not outsiders or strangers, people looking to take advantage. 

The outer walls are done. They've been described as soft golden oak, almost a light cream color that tends to reflect the sky's colors. The windows and doors are similar wood, though closer to white. 

He always paces around the outside, checking for exits and possible dangers as he imagines new home. It's quite an adventure since he doesn't know the exact shape, though he keeps imagining a building that is almost a trefoil made of three octagons, it reminds him of a triskelionon. The main entrance is the first of the octagons with a deck that wraps around to the edges of the other two octagons. 

In total there are six entrances on the ground floor. The front door, which is the most elaborate of them. The back door which leads to where the old pack house used to sit. Then both of the living area octagons have two, though they are hidden within beautiful stained glass windows that reach from ceiling to floor.

Walking up the front steps, he smiles at the words carved into the top of the frame: Home and Hearth, Blessed Be to all who enter as friends and family, a curse to those who seek to harm. 

The front door is actually a double door swings outwards, rather than inwards. Not that he needs both to make an entrance. The entry is a bit of a mudroom with benches against the walls between coat and shoe racks, there's even house shoe and slipper rack for those who hate to be barefoot. All the colors are warm wood tones, contrasting golds and reds, rich browns and tans. 

When he goes through the doors directly across from the entrance, he's in the main hall where the steps to upstairs begin, along with the doors to the downstairs bathrooms, bedrooms, library, kitchen, dining room, den, and living room. 

Right now there are only frames to the walls, made of the same cream tone mountain ash, outlining where each room will be.

He can easily picture small children with soulful brown eyes and flowing black hair running around with pale skinned fiery redheads and energetic blondes that contrast beautifully against their dark earthy tone skin. 

The kitchen is the domain of a lithe man with flashing amber eyes, freckles and moles that are scattered across his pale skin. He's always greeted with a hug or kiss, at least one hand brushing against his skin in scent marking. There's always snacks for the little ones running around, and plenty of food for their pack meals. 

He's positive that the lithe man is Stiles as an adult. How he knows, he's unsure. Sometimes he wonders if the new pack bond is allowing him glimpses of the future due to Stiles ability to See. That's what he hopes anyways. It's a dream that gives him the will to fight for the future. 

A familiar voice calls him to the library where he's surprised to find Christopher Argent pouring over a pile of old books laid out on a table. Why would there be a _hunter_ in his pack home?

Instinctively he sniffs the air, then does it a second time as he realizes the hunter smells like pack. More than that, like Stiles. He doesn't understand and right now doesn't want to. Particularly if it will destroy the nice little dream he's having.

Shaking his head, he listens as the hunter explains the problem a snarky woman with a glare answering the question before the hunter has even finished. Ah, so this is more a matter of his opinion is wanted to confirm what she said. 

He smiles, nodding towards the woman, and wanders off to explore more of the house. 

Eventually he finds himself at the center back door, the one that leads to the old driveway and where the original pack house sat. Swallowing, he makes his way through it and up to where the house once sat. Now there is a beautiful and complex garden, in the center a gorgeous tree, though he's never seen whatever type it is. There's something almost divine and other worldly about it.

There in his dream of his new home, he finds himself on his knees before this odd tree, grief and rage pouring forth. He's lost his family, his pack, _everything._

He's startled when the first hand brushes against his shoulder. Then another. And another. Until he's being touched by more hands than he can count. Only Stiles is familiar, the rest though feel like pack even though he can't readily identify them. 

"It's not your fault," Stiles murmurs, nose brushing the top of his head soothingly. 

He awakes with tears slowly running down his face, for the first time since the fire, his eyes open to the bright light of day. The first thing he sees is amber eyes and a wide smile on a youthful face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank each and every one of you for being wonderful peeps! I love all the comments and kudos and hits, it's been one of the bright points in the few crappy days. Here's the next chapter while I try not to stress about my bookstore in the making.


	8. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a shocking day for Stiles.

Stiles' POV

Hopping off the bus, he’s practically bouncing as he heads into the hospital and towards Peter’s room. His dad will be picking him up since he's supposed to get off work relatively early. Of course, he’s heard that before without it happening, at which point he ends up going home with Melissa when she gets off shift. Still, he lives to hope, or so it seems.

When he gets to the room, there's an energy cackling through the air, his hair stands on end, skin prickling in anticipation. 

Freezing in the door, his eyes dart around, checking that nothing has moved. When they settle on Peter, he notices the sweat beading along his wolf’s hairline, fingers twitching, muscles of the throat tense. 

He drops his backpack on the floor as he hurries across the floor to the bed, grabbing the box of tissues off the small side table to wipe the sweat off. As he starts wiping, he realizes that there are tears seeping from beneath closed eyes. 

“It’s alright, you’re alright. No one can hurt you. You’re not alone. Those who harmed your family were punished. They’re dead. Every single one I Saw.” He babbles, trying to remember some of the advice Bazyli had and sure he is missing some. His fingers brush over the soft hair at the top of Peter’s head as he whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

His world spins, the sounds of the hospital fading away, body leaning into the bed as the Sight consumes him. It’s different than the last. Instead of being able to see everyone directly, as an outsider, he Sees the events from his wolf’s perspective. Echoes of emotions wash through him, the pain and terror, determination and fury. 

In a blink, the world shifts again, and now he’s in the new pack home that is working towards being completed. He’s still viewing it from Peter’s perspective. It looks different, the colors brighter, sharper; the scents far more noticeable; the sounds louder. It’s beautiful.

He's smiling as a the vision ends and he blinks, meeting soft blue eyes ringed with gray.

Freezing in place, he whispers, "Peter?"

Slowly the blue eyes close, chin tipping down a fraction before the eyes open back up. They're studying him intently, seeking it seems. 

"Peter! I, you, awesome!" He flails, body turning to the door to fetch Melissa, while also reaching out to touch his friend — they're friends right? Pack mates are friends? — and stumbling at the same time. He's laughing as he lands on his butt, somehow having managed not to look away. Babbling, "You're awake. Wasn't expecting that. It's good, right, wait, are you in pain?"

He scrambles to his feet, wiggling a bit as he touches just below the scarring of the wrist. It takes him a moment to remember how to do pulses, sort of relieved that it's not higher than it has been. Actually it's a big lower, and the edge of burn damage is a bit more healed.

His wolf smiles at him, that same sort of indulgent smile he's seen often enough on his dad or Melissa's face. 

"I'm gonna get Melissa now." He nods, squeezing the wrist beneath his fingers reassuringly. 

Letting go, he turns and sprints to the door, glancing back at mostly closed blue eyes before he goes looking for her. By the time he finds her, he's out of breath from keeping himself from sprinting. Who'd guess not running could be as tiring as running sometimes?

"Stiles? Is everything alright, hun?" She asks, setting her clipboard down to move towards him. "I thought you were visiting with Peter?"

He's thankful she never calls him Mr. Hale when speaking to him, that'd feel wrong when he can faintly feel his wolf's emotions. "I am, was, will be. He woke up!" The words don't want to come in a clear sentence as images flash across his vision. Something is wrong. "We should go. There. Now."

Nodding, Melissa motions him to lead the way, grabbing a different clipboard as she passes the other end of the nurses station. This isn't technically her wing, however since he started coming to visit, she's been getting shifts there too. Probably because the staff finds him hard to deal with.

When they get back to the room, Peter's eyes are darting around, sweat beading his forehead again, tension in every muscle. As soon as the blue eyes land on him, they seem to lock into place.

"Mr. Hale?" She moves closer, watching his wolf's expression. "Hello, I'm happy to see you've woken up. I'm Melissa McCall, a nurse here at the hospital, and a friend of Stiles." 

She smiles, continuing across the space of the room and stopping beside his friend to lightly touch the wolf's arm. Long fingers twitch, only on the arm he's touching, so he grasp them, lightly squeezing and his smile morphing into a grin when they are squeezed back, even if weakly. 

Peter's focus shifts from him to her, head moving the slightest bit, throat shifting as his wolf swallows. Has the damage messed up his wolf's ability to speak? That sucks if so. 

"You have been here since January 25th of last year. It is now February 18th of 2006." Her voice is gentle, kind, the same softness used when she told him his mom had died, even though he already knew, and that she uses when he is grieving and she wants him to know she's there for him. "I'm sorry, only Laura and Derek survived."

Pain explodes through the bond, causing him to scream, before vanishing just as quick.

"Stiles?" Melissa's attention is instantly on him.

"M'fine," he mumbles, the hand not holding his wolf's rubbing at his face. How'd he manage to not let go? 

She hums, a disbelieving sound if he's ever heard one. 

He misses the next several minutes as she speaks with Peter, working out a nonverbal system to use for now. What he does catch is the amazement and shock that his wolf is waking, right before he's presented with a more choices through his visions. He really hates when the visions come so fast together he has a hard time processing one before the next one begins. 

Even more annoying is vision pieces which he knows are no longer possibilities. Seriously, why? What is the use of having vision that he can’t do anything with? To show him what could have happened? That only works if he sees what led to those events, and most of the time he doesn’t. 

Shaking his head, he rubs at his face again, glancing between the two adults. 

“You can visit once the doctor’s done speaking with Mr. Hale, Stiles,” Melissa informs him, smiling gently, hand brushing against his shoulder. 

He nods, tightening his grip for a moment on his wolf’s hand before letting go, fingers twitching against his. “I’ll be back shortly.” 

Actually, now that Peter is waking, it’d be a good idea to make sure he’s safe. What if he missed some of the insane people? Visions aren’t perfect indicators of what can or will happen. His pack mate can’t defend himself right now! It’d be horrible for something to happen simply because he didn’t think of safety. 

A barely there nod is the only acknowledgement he gets, though the bond between them feels warm. 

He leaves his stuff in the room as he follows her out, coming up with a bit of a plan, though he’s not sure how well it will work. No matter, he’ll give it a try. 

“I’m gonna wait on the roof,” he tells her, staring up at her and trying for an innocent expression. 

A frown tugs at the edge of her lips as she studies him before slowly nodding, “Okay, but one of these days we’re going to talk about why you like high places like that so much.”

“Righto!” he agrees, bounding off towards the stairwell before she can say anything else. A few minutes later, he’s standing on the roof, looking out at the preserve in the bright sunlight. The trees aren’t quite the right shades of green as he sees in his better visions. Maybe some time he’ll figure out why. Right now he has other things to worry about. 

Digging in his pocket, he pulls a small vial of dust out triumphantly. Grinning, he pops the cap out, and dips his finger in. He recaps and shoves it back in his pocket before taking the little bit on his finger to blow on, whispering, “Dreambells, can you get Cody, and come to the hospital please?”

He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits. Why didn’t he think of safety earlier? He’s a cops kid who grew up with visions and knowing how to deal with the fae. Shouldn’t that have been something he thought of before? Of course, he’s ten, as much as he wants to claim to be grown up, he knows better, even if there are times that he feels like he has to be the grown up. 

The rapid beating of wings draws his attention as a hummingbird and the small sprite come shooting towards him. 

He loves watching the way they fly around each other. It reminds him of walking with Scott and how they always seem to know where the other one is gonna go, even when they aren’t actually paying attention.

“Hi! Th—blessed be!” it’s a close call as he nearly says the wrong thing. “How do wolves take care of injured members of the pack who can’t defend themselves?” 

Cody shifts from bird to man, at least mostly as his hair still has feathers mixed in along with other spots such as elbows and hips, smiling as he replies, “They would keep members with the injured pack mate at all times or have the left hand protect them.” 

He frowns, he’s heard that term before. Left hand. Where? He’s sure it’s important. “Is there another name for them?” 

“Enforcer,” the sprite chimes, “all packs have them, those with multiples call the top one the left hand. They are the pack’s justice.”

“Oh!” How could he forget that is what Peter’s mom called him, the pack enforcer, after his father. Both protected the pack. “Enforcers know each other right? Maybe they’d help one another out since they are the justice keepers?”

Cody’s hair feathers fluff out. “I can go check with all the packs that are within reach, see if the enforcers do.”

Dreambells lands on his shoulder, patting his hair, "He's safe, I'll see to it."

He smiles at the sprite. There are so many ways they could use those words to mean without lying, but he’s hopeful they mean them just as they’re said. 

“There’s a human coming,” the hummingbird announces, shifting into his full bird form.

“Stiles?” Candy calls out from the door, she’s one of the nurses who doesn’t like it up here. 

“On the way,” he answers, turning to trot towards where she’s waiting. 

“Melissa asked me to come get you, Mr. Hale is awake, and the doctor is done checking with him, so you can visit for now.” 

Grinning, he nods energetically, arms flailing a bit as he stumbles. 

Somehow Dreambells stays balanced on his shoulder, chuckling as he follows her inside, yet she doesn’t seem to notice them. It confirms his thought that normal humans can't see the little sprite unless they want the humans to. 

A few minutes later, they are back at the door to Peter’s room.

He knocks, mostly so not to startle his wolf before stepping in. 

As soon as he’s in line of sight for the bed, blue eyes follow him, flickering between his face and shoulder, a small frown curving the wolf’s lips. 

“This is Dreambells,” he motions to the sprite who hops off his shoulder and flutters closer but doesn’t land on Peter. “They’ve been helping me with the pack house and finding contractors and showing me little things here and there. They also said they’d make sure you’re safe while Cody does some research.” 

He can feel the question in the link between them, much more vibrant now that his wolf is actually awake. 

“Cody is the hummingbird shifter, I don’t know if you remember me mentioning him? The last few weeks have been really busy it seems,” he babbles as he grabs his backpack and heads to his chair. “The outside, basement, and ground floor of the house is done. The second floor is being worked on right now, though all the rooms are pretty generic so our packmates who end up in them can choose their own.” 

He pulls his homework to work on, frowning as it’s that rather boring history report. It’s not boring because it’s history, it’s boring because he knows exactly how inaccurate it is. It’s written from the ‘winners’ side and definitely doesn’t tell the truth. He hates that. The last time he had to do a history report, he went looking for obscure references to use just so he could practice Remembering and put the truth. Not that his teacher appreciated it. It didn’t fit what she thought he should put.  


“I don’t actually know who all will end up being in the pack, cause the visions change from time to time. Sometimes it’s just little changes, other times it’s huge, and they mix together too. Do you know how hard it is to understand something that is always mixing itself up?” He shoves the report back in his bag, not wanting to work on it right now. 

There’s a bit of amusement in the link between them, and in the pale eyes watching him. 

“I know I should work on it, but it’s a really wrong history report! Why do they want us to write history reports based on lies?” He grumbles, throwing his hands up. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

The amusement in the bond between them grows.

“Hey, do you, uh,” he falls off his chair as he shifts around a bit too much. “Wait, where was I going with that question? Oh! Right.” Dusting his jeans off, he sits back down. “Anyways, do you know when I’m or someone else is coming in even if they don’t knock?” 

Peter’s head inclines the slightest bit. 

“Cool! Can you tell people apart?”

Again there is the slightest inclination. 

“That’s awesome is it all senses or just some? Wait, that’d be a tricky question. Um, how about, by hearing?”

There’s more amusement spiking between them, and another tiny nod. Cause it’s totally a nod now that he’s seen it a few times. 

They go back and forth for several more minutes before Peter's eyes flicker towards the door, narrowing. 

He twists around as there is a knock and his dad enter. A quick glance at the clock confirms his dad is even on time. That doesn't happen often since getting the promotion to sheriff. "Hi!" 

"Hey kiddo," his dad replies with a fond smile. Gray green eyes turning towards his wolf, almost playfully commenting, "Mr. Hale, I hope that my son is not bothering you."

Peter gives the slightest shake of his head, warmth spreading through their bond. 

Is it possible to draw his dad into the pack bond? That'd definitely make communicating easier, particularly with the ability to feel. He'll ask Cody when the hummingbird gets back.

"Once you have recovered further I will go over the case with you, as I am certain you will want to know." His dad continues solemnly. 

He hates that tone, it's the bad news tone. A different sort of warmth spreads through the link. Comforting, soothing, he'd even say understanding. 

Peter's eyes are icy as he slowly nods, the most motion he's seen his wolf make.

"I know he's been staying here while I'm working, but tonight I'm out early and want to get dinner with him." His dad's tone softens, "I'm sure he'll be back tomorrow to see you."

A small smile plays at the edge of his wolf's lips as he nods, eyes flicking towards the door. He's moderately sure he's being told to go.

It's definitely been a day full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really bad couple of days for me, I have loved all of the comments on they were one of the few bright spots. The progress towards the store is another. For those who don't know, I'm trying to open a bookstore, here's a post on my blog about it, anyone who shares is has my forever thanks, and those who help in other ways get even more thanks! [Cosmos Market](https://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/post/189964749303/cosmos-market)


	9. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter drifts and offers comfort.

Peter's POV 

He’d snarl if he could get his vocal cords to work. Since waking a few hours before the only thing he’s managed to do is facial expressions, and tiny bits of moving his head around, though not nearly full rotation. Not even half his normal ability to rotate. 

The only good thing about now being awake, even if he’s still trapped is the fact he’s able to respond now, at least some, to Stiles. 

His new and young packmate is definitely not what he was expecting when imagining him. The whiskey amber eyes gleam brightly, revealing every single emotion as they flash over features, and correlate with the scent filling the air. Stiles is never still, never truly silent, and always hopping from one topic to another, tying them together with facts he wouldn’t have connected despite his own excellent ability to make connections.

When his packmate’s father comes to pick him up, he’s mildly surprised that it’s the _sheriff._ As he doesn’t remember that fact being mentioned. Of course, he doesn’t remember half of what his young packmate has said, which is more than a little vexing. 

Now he’s watching as the tiny sprite flutters around the room, dusting things with powder.

The Hale Pack had a peace treaty with the local fae but rarely interacted with them, keeping people and pack members away from their territory whenever possible. It’s wise not to mess with beings who have long life spans, are tricksters merely as a way to avoid lying and for the pure pleasure of it. Particularly as some get rather spiteful in their trickery and that’s when they get dangerous. 

When the sprite is done, they perch on the chair Stiles was seated in earlier, peering at him through eyes that rapidly shift colors. “They’re dead. All those who caused this.”

He’s torn between furious he doesn’t get to get his revenge and pleased those who killed his pack are dead. 

“It started with Stiles telling his father about what was happening, where the evidence was, who was at fault.” The sprite settles in, a darkness he recognizes shining in their eyes. “Getting the hunters away from their clan was the perfect opening. That they were sent to prison by a Seer for Oathbreaking simply made it faster.” 

Since fae don’t lie, oathbreaking is considered one of the worst things an individual can do. He’s not sure what Stiles being a seer has to do with it, perhaps that is one of those details that the fae keep to themselves, as he knows there is a lot of things he’s unaware of regarding their cultures. 

It’s annoying that he cannot ask for details. He aches to know who they were. He wants to know how they died, who killed them, because that wording implies it wasn’t an accident. 

He swallows, trying again to speak but still not able to. He’d snarl if he could. Now would be a perfect time to ask questions about fae culture. How about how Stiles came to be involved with them. Or why they seem to respect him so well considering he’s a child by human and wolf standards, and probably even younger by fae standards. Whether it has to do with the fact that his young packmate can See. 

Instead he’s trapped within his mind and body, unable to communicate clearly. 

Closing his eyes, he reviews everything that he knows about his young packmate and the new pack house. He doesn’t know how long it will be before he has a chance to see it considering the shape he’s in. It’ll probably be years as packs and bonds help the healing. His pack is made up of a single person, a child, that’s not nearly enough to boost his ability to heal. As it is, he’s already healed a bit more than expected. 

He ignores the hands that move him around. He’d rather not have them touch him, but right now he’s powerless to stop them, or to do any of the care he needs on his own. The only reassuring part is the small sprite that he knows is still there. The humans cannot see the tiny body, that makes them more dangerous. 

A burst of shock spikes through the pack bond, strong and flashing with too rapid of images to understand. How the hell does Stiles handle seeing things if they are always moving so fast that they cannot be processed? Is it part of why the boy is so energetic and does it affect the ADHD?

He drifts, dreaming about the new house and the ever growing pack that he’s apparently going to belong to. Not all of the new pack lives at the pack house, some live in houses nearby, a few live in town proper. They seem to have a good pack, not necessarily traditional as there are more than wolves and humans within it, but still close. 

The next time he’s aware and he’s sitting up on the bed rather than in the wheelchair, Stiles is there, babbling at him excitedly about the tree, the Nematon, and the gift he got, a little white tree unlike any the boy’s seen before. Is it the tree from the visions?

Apparently his young packmate’s maternal grandmother is here to visit. It’s the first time that they’ve ever met. He’d be surprised about the visit, except the fact his packmate makes it a point to come see him at least a few minutes every day. 

He smiles, a barely there twitch of the lips as he watches the animated way Stiles hands flash through the air. The scent of excitement and joy surrounds him, drawing him in. It's calming, the familiarity of behavior and feelings echoing through the pack bond. Which is rather amusing as Stiles is anything but calm. 

Most of the words wash over him, though he catches enough to answer a few of his questions such as why a group of fae would answer to a child and whether the boy is human or not. Another thing he catches is exactly how sick the Nemoton is.

He had once asked his sister and her emissary if they felt the wrongness of the tree, but both dismissed his concerns. Did that have a part to play in this mess? Is it possible the tree was affecting those in the area? Why would it not have an effect on him? Or did it but because of his personality and it wasn't as bad as some of the others?

Just before dinner time, Stiles suddenly cuts himself off and sways, lips tight in a frown and eyes squeezing shut. 

Every muscle and nerve in his arm burns as he reaches out, managing to brush his fingers against Stiles’ cheek. He focuses on sending warmth through the pack link between them since he can’t speak. 

Leaning into the touch, his packmate breathes harshly. 

“Sorry,” the boy mutters, scent sour compared to normal, not yet moving or opening his eyes. “I gotta go talk to dad.”

He focuses on acceptance, trying to reassure Stiles that it’s okay. 

Slowly amber eyes open and his packmate lifts a hand, laying it over his. A small smile fighting through the frown. “Thanks.” Letting go of his hand, the boy steps back, sighing, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Nodding, he smiles back, certain he will hear about the vision that stressed Stiles out tomorrow, and aiming for reassuring. His arm drops back to the bed, breath hissing out as the nerves in his arm scream at him for the use. It doesn’t matter, he managed to move more than just the tiniest bit. It’s the most he’s been able to move since he woke up. He’s healing far slower than he appreciates. For now he’s going to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, this last week has been Long, **So Long**. Most of it Not Good, and about my current goals with opening a bookstore, for those interested, here's the [update](https://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/post/190186463837/cosmos-market). This chapter was written in bits and pieces as a stress relief, and while it's not exactly how I wanted it, the chapter swears it's done. I hope you all enjoy, all of your comments on the previous chapter have been a glowing bright point in my life lately.


	10. Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles does some visiting with peeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'll be answering comments here after I take a nap, all of you who have left one or kudosed are wonderful! The last few weeks have been horrible to say the least, so I really appreciate them. Hopefully y'all enjoy as this chapter was somewhat tricky for me.

Stiles’ POV

He’s almost to the police department when he gets struck by another vision, nearly knocking him off his bike. Thankfully it’s not nearly as violent as the first, though just as traumatic. 

A few minutes later, he’s standing at the door to his dad’s office, relieved to see he’s alone. “You need to go to the Lahey house. Now. Right now.” 

Glancing up from the paperwork in front of him, his dad frowns, studying him and shoving away from his desk. 

“He’s in the freezer. We have to get him out. Now.” He fidgets with his hands, shifting his weight, and biting his lip. 

That gets his dad moving faster, motioning him towards the front. “Stay with Tammy, I’ll have Melissa come pick you up.” 

He shakes his head, “I can bike home. Remember, Grandmother Agata came for a surprise visit?”

The frown deepens, “That’s right.” His dad pinches his nose, “Why weren’t you with her?”

Shrugging, he answers, “I stopped to visit Peter since she wanted to see some old friends in the area, or at least see if they’re still around. I was there when…” he trails off, not sure what to say since the last time he tried to explain had been after his mom died, and he Saw how his dad had helped the death speaker. Banshee. His dad thought he was lying. 

Then the night of the Hale Fire when he woke up screaming, babbling about the people dying, how his dad had to get to the house in the forest, had to help them. Stop the fire and the death. His dad didn’t believe him. Not at first. By the time he did, it was too late. 

When his dad got home, his dad looked at him differently. Hesitantly asking if he knew who did it and how. He was numb as he led his dad to the Argents, and showed all the evidence, and the people. _Everything_. Since then their relationship has been non-existent. So often his dad looks at him like he wants to say something, but the moment always passes. The drinking went from a lot to way too much. 

Shaking his head, he shrugs. Best not to say anything about his ability to See. “You should hurry.”

“Anders!” His dad calls out to one of the younger deputies. “Make sure Stiles gets home. I’ve been called to do a wellness check.”

“Yes sir!” 

He gets a surprising quick hug before his dad is gone, striding off with that expression that means business. At least now he gets listened too, he just wishes it wouldn’t have taken so many deaths for his dad to believe him, or their relationship changing. 

Anders is a tall man, reed thin and eyes full of mischief. “Do you want a ride, or just want me to follow you with the cruiser?”

He rubs a hand over his head, “Uh, I wanna ride my bike?”

“I’ll follow you then,” the deputy nods. 

Does he really need someone to follow him home? He doesn’t think so, but his dad does. It always feels weird when these moments pop in, particularly since they’ve been pretty rare the last year. There hasn’t been as much direct oversight, even if there probably should be. 

There’s been a lot of time spent biking around, taking in the town, spent with Scott and over the last few weeks, Peter. Lots of time in visions too, Seeing can be fun, when it’s not bad stuff. He uses his mom’s old and completely outdated computer to take notes about his visions, it was something his mom taught him to do. She kept handwritten journals, but he’s never been able to focus enough to do the same, so she taught him typing instead. They were supposed to get a newer computer for him but then his mom got sick. Now that’s on hold due to medical bills. 

Shaking his head, he waits for Anders to be ready to go. 

A few minutes later, he’s on his bike, heading towards the house, the cop cruiser not far behind. Maybe he should have accepted a ride instead, but the last time he did that, he had to get his tire fixed as it somehow got popped in the trunk of the car. 

When he reaches his house, he waves at the cop who keeps on going with a quick wave back.

It doesn’t take long to put his car up, then head inside. He’s barely through the door when he hears the soft tapping that he’s come to expect from Bazyli. Opening the door back up, he smiles at the pair standing on the porch. 

He steps sideways so they can come in. 

“Blessed be, Stiles, I hope you had a good visit?” the dwarf greets him as the pair enters. 

“Yeah, until the end it was.” He answers shutting the door behind them. 

Grandmother nods slowly, sitting down on the sofa. 

Bazyli shoos him towards a seat, then heads into the kitchen. Probably getting them drinks, as it is not uncommon for the dwarf to do that when it’s just them, so he can’t see any reason he wouldn’t do it for the three of them. 

“The Nematon has been nearly killed, she’s poisoned and ill. Something bound within her roots that is causing the ley lines to shift and change, the power to pool elsewhere.” Grandmother tells him, rubbing her chin, and tipping her this and that way. “She has just enough energy to create a seedling in the other realm if you are willing to care for them.” 

He nods, bouncing in place, “That’s the white tree from the visions?”

“Yes, kotku, I am sure the white tree is the Nematon’s seedling.” She hums, staring off in the distance. “That may allow her to grow once more, or it may finish her off.” 

“Growing’s better,” he mutters, “how can we make sure of it?”

Grandmother smiles at him with a nod of approval as Bazyli comes back with their drinks. 

“Blessed be,” he mumbles as he takes the cup. 

“Are you looking forward to having a younger brother?” she asks as she accepts the steaming mug. 

He blinks for a moment, setting his cup down before flailing a bit. Younger brother? How? Oh! That must have been why the spare bedroom was made up in his visions earlier before he saw about Isaac. “I dunno? It depends…” 

Bazyli frowns at him, glancing at the chair as he settles. 

Isaac is coming from a place that is abusive. While his dad isn’t actively abusive, he is a functioning drunk, mostly. There’s times that leads to neglect and that’s a type of abuse too. That could be a bit of a problem. Although at this point it’d probably be an improvement based on what he Saw. Of course, it’s possible it won’t matter because of Peter will be better and they will have Melissa as stable adults. Hm. This could work. 

“You probably can’t See it dear, but he will start straightening out before the end of this year.” She pats his knee in between sips. “Before Isaac’s birthday.” 

He doesn’t know when that will be but he is going to assume it will be sooner than not. 

His stomach starts growling before he has a chance to ask anything else, reminding him, and telling the others that he hasn’t had his dinner yet. Standing up, he heads to the kitchen, used to needing to make food when his dad isn’t home and not really considering the fact that there are two adults there. 

“What are we making?” Bazyli queries from his left side, barely a step behind him.

He really wishes Seeing his own life was something he was good at, after all, it’d make things easier sometimes. It’s probably best it’s not though. Too much information about the future can be a problem. Particularly as things are rarely set in stone. Only visions about the immediate future are hard to change, and that’s because they tend to be happening at close to the same time as the vision. 

“Spaghetti,” he replies, looking at what's in the fridge. 

“We’ll help, kotku,” Grandmother declares as she enters the kitchen, glancing around, “I’m certain we can make it more than plain.”

He ducks his head, smiling, his mom used to say almost exactly that when teaching him new things. 

The three of them work smoothly together, despite his natural awkwardness and tendency to be clumsy. Did his grandmother and Bazyli do this with his mom when she was little? How long do dwarves live? How long does whatever his grandmother is live for? Will he live that long? 

“I know you have questions, kotku, and we’ll get to them, but for now it’d be best to prepare for the rising disaster.” Her voice is soft as she glances over at him, checking to see how close to done the noodles are. 

He nods, hoping he’ll get a chance to ask those questions, but she’s right, there’s a coming mess. “I want to tell dad and Melissa.” 

Both nod, sharing a glance.

“Well, kotku, we can do that.” She agrees with a soft smile. “It might make things a bit easier with him, compared to where they are. Possibly snap him out of the foolish behavior he’s been in.” 

Relieved, he goes to devouring his dinner. They can discuss then details after. 


	11. Sharing Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shares what info he can with Melissa and his dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, so due to life Murphy Lawing me way too much (including me finishing this just to forget to hit save and having it deleted. oops), I pretty much wrote this on my touchpad. Errors are expected sadly. I'm okay with things being pointed out politely, for those who spot stuff.
> 
> Also, I had forgotten exactly how much of a cluster bugger the Stilinski house is in the show as like the lunar cycle, the creators apparently couldn't track what their own building looked like. Anyways. Canon apparently gets to bite it for this. In my head if nothing else.

Stiles' POV

He's antsy as he waits for Melissa to get there. Normally Scott would come with her, but he's not ready to tell his best friend about everything. Not yet. Not when he's stressing over telling the adults. He tried to tell Scott once before, but his friend thought he was playing a joke, he hasn't tried since.

He Sees her pulling up moments before he hears his dad's cruiser. 

Frowning, he glances at Grandmother Agata for her reaction as he paces around the kitchen. She barely even glances towards the door. 

Will he be able to tell them at once? It'll make it easier, over all, but... He shivers, a chill racing down his spine, thoughts spinning too fast to keep up with, snippets of past visions dancing through his memory of all the ways this could go. With both of them. Together or apart. He doesn't like it and wishes that it'd settle on only a few possibilities. 

"It will be all right, kotku, this will be less stress in the long run." She smiles at him, head tipped to the side the slightest bit, the sharp curve of her ear on clear display. "Our proof will be here at the time they are needed."

That's good, he's been wondering where Cody is and whether he was able to get any of the enforcers to help. Unless she means something else? As far as he know, visions and the ability to travel are her only gifts. Wait, no, she can cast wards and shields. He's pretty sure that's not the proof though. Besides, having a shifter show them would be best. 

His dad and Melissa come in talking about Isaac and how best to help him. Currently the kid is at an emergency home, but those are only available for brief periods of time. There are no available foster families that can take him. Not right now. So Isaac might end up getting shipped to another part of the state, which wouldn't be best at this time according to the evaluations so far. As soon as the pair spot Bazyli they stop talking.

"Hi dad, Melissa," he greets them with a wide smile he's sure they see through. "Have you meet Bazyli yet? He works for Grandmother Agata."

"Why did you want to talk to both of us, Stiles?" His dad asks as he sits down at the table across from Grandmother.

It takes Melissa a moment longer, as she's staring at Bazyli, eyes narrow as if she recognizes him. Which really, she might since the dwarf's been around a lot the last month or so since showing up and is often with him at the hospital. 

He opens his mouth to speak, just to snap it shut again as he Sees the back porch. "They're here."

"I'll get the door," Bazyli announces as he leaves the spot he was standing and heads towards it.

Grandmother Agata smiles, shaking her head and pulling a pendant from her pocket to set on the table. "Perfect timing."

He snickers, sitting down at the table to jump back up, only to sit back down when his dad frowns. 

"Blessed be, Seers," Cody murmurs as the hummingbird enters the room, nodding to his dad and Melissa, and waving towards the man following him. "This is Thom of the Ronson Pack."

There's a tall, muscular man with sharp whiskey eyes close behind, gaze sweeping over the room. 

"Perfect timing!" He repeats, dancing in his seat. "That's for you," he points between the pendant and Thom. 

A nearly black brow arches at him, glancing at his grandmother as if to confirm, before nodding and striding to the table. He can nearly see the wolf beneath the surface, a wisp of a shadow. Shaking his head, he can feel how his skin heats up. "So, I um, wanna talk to you about fae and were-people."

"Stiles," his dad practically groans, rubbing a hand across his face. 

"I'm not joking!" His eyes dart between Grandmother Agata and Cody hoping for backup. 

Shrugging, the hints of a smile playing at the edge of the hummingbird's lips, he changes forms, clothes drop to the floor as Cody becomes his tiny bird form.

His dad shoves away from the table, bolting to his feet, reaching for his gun, only to have his wrist firmly gripped in Thom's grasp, the hint of claws grazing skin. 

"You may let go, Protector," Grandmother Agata announces. 

Cody buzzes around for a bit, making it a point to buzz in front of both adults in his life before returning to his clothes and partially shifting back close to the floor. 

The wolf is slow to obey, nose twitching as he draws a deep breath in. 

Slumping in the chair, his dad glances between him and others. "I need a drink," it's a dark mutter, eyes settling on the cupboard the liquor is stored in.

He looks away, towards his grandmother, trying to keep from showing how much it bothers him. According to the expression on the wolf's face when he meets eyes similar to his own, he falls. 

"You do not." Grandmother Agata retorts sharply, lifting her head and staring down her nose at his dad. "What you need is to listen and pay attention. I know my daughter did not choose a fool as a mate."

Ducking his head, he tries not to laugh as it's funny to see his dad being taken to task like a teenager. He's never heard anyone take that to be with his dad, not even his mom. She tended to be softer spoken when she wanted to make a point. 

"Stiles," Melissa waits until he looks at her to continue, "you tell us what you need to," she prompts him gently, smilig at him and ignoring the other adults.

He nods, swallowing, sitting on his hands to keep from fidgeting too much. "Ah, yeah, so fae and were-people, um, and shifters, but they're separate to were-people, even if similar." He motions between Thom and Cody, not sure when his hands slipped out from under his legs. "Mom was fae, at least in part, and thats why I can See, know things, before or as they happen, even when I'm not there. I think it's why I like high places and have so much energy."

She nods, keeping her expression soft and paying attention as if he is saying the most important words. 

"She came from a line of seers, I am just the most recent one." He glances at his grandmother, receiving an encouraging nod. "I'm not sure how the letter and inheritance came to be. But I've accepted it, and built the pack home."

"What inheritance?" His dad interrupts abruptly. 

"The letter and task from Great Grandmother Rosa," he answers, offering the packet he had received the first time he met Bazyli.

He's sure his dad isn't going to like it. It should bother him, but it doesn't, not when he knows he's doing the right thing. The pack home is nearly done, with Thom here, Peter can be taken from the hospital to the safety of the pack home. While all those he knows were responsible for the deaths are gone, dead, there are other hunters out there. Other beings who might threaten his wolf. 

While his dad reads it, he turns his attention to Melissa, and explains to her about his visions and how he has known some of the things he's spoke of over the years. She's asked in the past, and he's always played it off or not answered. Where his dad had thought him lying or joking, she nods slowly, a small frown curling her lips. 

"Do the visions hurt?" 

Blinking, he shakes his head, "Not normally. Sometimes particular strong ones share the feelings of the person I am Seeing through."

"Like Peter's?" She murmurs thoughtfully.

"That was a combo of Sight and his pain in the pack bond over the confirmation his family was gone," he replies, ducking his head. "It took me by surprise."

There's a soft growl from Thom.

Melissa frowns, leaning forward a bit, "Pack bond?"

Before he can reply, the wolf does, "An emotional connection between a shifter and those they have emotional ties to. Mostly family, but not always."

"Why would you have a bond with Hale?" His dad demands, glancing up from the papers. 

"I spend time with him at the hospital, talking and telling him about the new pack home, touching his arm, trying to do what mom used to do when I didn't feel good." He's proud of the fact he didn't stumble over saying it. "It worked. A bond formed and he woke up faster than I thought he would."

Melissa nods, "There've been several patients over the years that have healed up faster when those they're close to are there."

Grandmother Agata smiles at his best friend's mom. "I'm not surprised you noticed."

"You're a child, you can't do _this._ " His dad snarls, setting the last paper down.

"I have been. Over the last month." He replies firmly. "It's easier than this," he waves to the house around them. "I got lots of help."

Bazyli nods, amusement lacing an otherwise serious tone. "Indeed. An entire company of dwarves and colony of gnomes. A few sprites too."

His dad glares at the dwarf.

"Wolves as well," Thom adds, eyes narrowed dangerously as his dad. "I won't be the only one to answer the call." 

He smiles at the wolf, grateful for the reassurance. "Once the pack home is done, Peter will want to go there to finish healing." He glances at Bazyli and his grandmother to make sure that the plan is still a good one. After they nod, he continues, "You're trusted, so Bazyli is gonna make sure you can be the nurse who comes to check on him. Since we know the hospital will insist on that, even though he'll get private care."

She nods, glancing at the dwarf. "How, exactly?"

"Long standing contracts with a variety of medical personal, and one with the hospital for all Hale Pack members to be able to heal in safety," Bazyli answers.

"You're _not_ moving out." His dad snaps as he sets the papers down.

He blinks slowly, head tipping as he stares at his dad. "I didn't say I want to...?" His voice trails off, trying to figure out where the idea came from. 

Yes, he has a room within the Pack Home, as he is a member of the pack, and pretty much all pack members have a room or will have one. There's several different possibilities for pack members in the future, so there are multiple bedrooms not yet decorated. Really, with everything in fluctuation so much, there's no way he'd move now. Who would make sure his dad is safe and taken care of? What about the brother he'll have soon? Nope, not moving out. Sure, there will be days when his dad is working and he'll stay out there with Isaac and Peter. 

Wait, is Isaac gonna be pack? Will the bond form there? Will one form with his dad? Yes he wants one, but how does one go about making it happen? Is there a way to do so? He'll ask about it later. 

"Stiles?" The concern in Melissa's voice draws his attention. 

"Sorry," he mutters. "Uh, where were we? Oh, yeah. Right now the pack is tiny. Just us two," there's a soft growl from Thom, "in time it will grow."

"I don't like this," his dad mutters, rubbing between his brow. "Did it have to be you?"

Grandmother Agata frowns, peering past his dad. "As the sheriff in this town I am surprised you are unaware of the supernatural. It's long been a beacon. Although," her fingers drum on the table, "perhaps this is for the best. You do not have misconceptions to unlearn." She blinks, meeting his dad's gaze firmly, "Time to learn. That is why Stiles wished to share information with you."

He doesn't catch what Melissa says, but knows it's an acknowledgement that being able to See, and the fact there a lot of ways the future can go. That's a bit reassuring. She'll support him then, as she gets it. Sometime he'll have to ask why, but today is just information sharing. At least for what's to come, or so he thinks until he catches up to what she's currently saying.

"I'd like to see where he will be recovering, and where Stiles, Scott, and Isaac will probably spend time when Noah or I cannot be with the boys." 

"Of course ma'am," Bazyli replies with a nod, "that was anticipated."

His dad, Melissa, and Grandmother Agata all stand up, he's about to join them when he gets the impression he should go to the hospital now.


	12. Feeling Like Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris goes to the hospital and doesn't expect what happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my touchpad between sleeping off pain. I hope you all enjoy.

Chris' POV

As a hunter, he's not used to feeling like he's the one being hunted. Yet as he enters he hospital, alerted by a hunter who works in the building that the last Hale here has awoken, he is certain he is being watched and weighed. It's an uncomfortable feeling. 

Squaring his shoulders, he makes his way to the elevator and the long term ward. The closer he gets, the stronger the feeling of being stalked, hunted, judged. He stops outside Hale's door, discreetly glancing about and using the hospital security mirrors to check for what is causing the uneasy feeling. He'll just have to be on guard, ready for whatever it is to the best of his ability. 

Wrapping his knuckles against the door softly, he pushes it open and steps in, quickly taking in the fact Hale is not at the window or in bed as expected. 

"You should come back tomorrow," a child his daughter's age informs him, seemingly appearing beside him. "At two pm. With her, the matriarch."

A shiver runs down his spine. Turning to face the child, he studies the young man with haunted amber eyes, pale skin dotted with moles, and dark hair in a buzz cut. He's seen this boy at the school when picking Allison up. Can he remember who with? Not off the top of his head, mostly he's seen the boy alone or with another boy. Besides the eyes, there is nothing otherworldly about him, nothing supernatural. Yet the boy must be _something_ with the way he appeared. 

He decides not to say anything, nodding and leaving instead. It would be best to gather as much information as he can before tomorrow. He'll start with Clarisa since she is the one who informed him Hale is awake but said nothing of the supernautral boy. 

Ten minutes later, he's in his home office making a series of calls, waiting for Victoria to be out of the meeting she's currently in. 

Clarisa doesn't know anything about the fae boy. She's actually surprised by the questions, as the only child she knows of visiting Hale is the sheriff's son, and he's never shown signs of being anything but human. His dad is definitely a human, his mom had passed away the year before, but it was of a natural disease and generally non-humans don't get those. She is surprised Hale woke up, but that was more because before he started healing like a werewolf, he was healing slowly like a human. The most helpful thing she suggests is the sheriff's son might have accidentally pack bonded with Hale, keeping the werewolf from becoming an omega in need dying. 

The rest of his calls are to other right hands, ones he trusts to give him accurate information that have lived by the Code of only hunting those who harm others. Since the discovery of what his father and sister had done, repeatedly, he'd started weeding through his contacts to make sure he worked with those that honored the Code. There is enough rogue hunters and those who are loose with the Code. The goal is to check and see if they have ever heard of a child like fae with golden whiskey eyes healing injured weres. Thus far none have.

The right hand of the Finnish clan Halla emailed him with unsettling news she thought he'd find important: multiple packs left hands have started traveling towards Beacon Hills.

He's just set the phone down when his wife joins him, gray blue eyes worried behind her indifferent mask.

"That was an emergency meeting of the American and Canadian Clans." Victoria states as she settles into his second chair. "Word has spread among the were population about the Argents breaking the code repeatedly and the Tribunal has done nothing of it. The reparations _have to_ be made before it can escalate further."

"Yes," he agrees, "there's at least six left hands on their way here."

She hisses sharply, eyes widening briefly only to narrow.

"When I went to the hospital to speak with Hale, a boy was there, demanded that we come tomorrow at two p.m. for a meeting." He's highly uncomfortable with that, but it's not like they have a lot of choices.

"We will be there." She states firmly, fingers tapping lightly at the edge of his desk, testing out an annoyed tune. "Allison can spend some time with Gabriel and Tanya, we will take Alexia with us."

He wants to ask if it's wise to take a hunter known for hating all werewolves is a good idea, unfortunately he sees the logic as she's one of the fastest and strongest. She's also one of the most obedient and loyal. If something goes wrong she will be able to handle it but she won't act out and will keep her mouth shut.

The rest of the day seems to simultaneously drag on and fly by. There is a change in the air that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn't know what the change is, only that it's coming, and he's definitely not comfortable with that. He will do whatever it takes to protect Allison during it, that's all he really can do. Hopefully though, it will be for the better, rather than something for the worse. He's so damned tired of things getting worse. Even Victoria seems to feel it, if the fact she has set her work aside and is spending time with Allison and him.

It's rather early in the morning when Allison gets a call from the classmate she has befriend, Lydia, and in invite over for the weekend. He takes it as a sign and talks Victoria into allowing it, even pointing out that the Hales never broke the code, more than that, they were known for defending kids no matter the species. He's sure that the two hunters are somewhere nearby, watching over through the scope of their rifles when they drop Allison off.

"Have fun, Allycat." He murmurs against her forehead. "I love you."

Giggling, "Love you too, dad," before pecking his cheek, and then turns to her mom for a quick hug. 

Once she is in the house and they are back in the car and on there way to the house, Victoria states, "This will make preparing and following through simpler."

He nods, knowing she isn't expecting an answer as she's simply trying to reassure herself she made the best choice. Sometimes he wonders if the reason she's so afraid of the weres is terrified of the day the peaceful ones stop being so peaceful. His fingers drum on the wheel as he tries to determine when he realized there are peaceful ones and whether that made what his family did so much worse to him. It had to be when he was still a teenager seeing how he butted heads with his father multiple times after his mother's death. His father had been the type to want to destroy all supernatural, no matter the type or how they lived despite the fact that wasn't what the Code said. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised when it came out what his father had done. 

"Find out if there are any survivors from the rest." She orders him as the car stops in their driveway.

"I already started," he figured that would come in the near future, so it is something he started, though it hasn't been the easiest to do since most went deep into hiding or joined other packs and changed who they were completely.

Victoria's smile is almost warm compared to her normal expression towards him. They've never been the closest, and while they were - are - friends, theirs was a political marriage as she is a younger daughter and not directly in line to head her family. One that is just as old as his. 

"Excellent, I will be ready at one thirty," she informs him, opening the door. "For Allison we will do whatever we must to ensure her safety."

He nods, locking the car when he gets out. Every hair on his neck stands up, ears straining for a noise that doesn't fit as he turns and slowly scopes the surroundings. Technically their house is in the family compound, but that doesn't mean supernatural can't watch, just that it would take creative planning for them to get in. Since there was that fae boy was in the were's room he's going to wager if the boy or any others of his ilk wanted in, they'd find a way, wards or not. 

He hates feeling like the prey. Unfortunately that's exactly what he feels like as he makes his way into the house, there has to be more prep work that he can do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all who leave comments and kudos are awesome, I adore you. Than you so much for giving me something bright to hang on during these rough times. Any communication is great, I'm jaimistoryteller over on Tumblr if you wanna stop in and say hi.


	13. Tired Musings and Enlightening Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets back to is room after therapy and smells hunters, Stiles tells him about the visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing between pain naps on the touchpad is slowly getting me back in the habit of being able to, still prefer the computer when I can. 
> 
> This technically takes place right after Chris leaves the room, so there is some timeline overlap.

Peter's POV

His nose twitches and itches when he gets back from physical therapy and he can smell _hunter_ in this room. 

It's bad enough that he has to do physical therapy cause he is healing so slowly, now his space has been encroached on by the very thing that caused this. It doesn't matter it's not the person, it's the fact one of them dared enter his room. If he wasn't so badly burned, the hunter never would have dared.

Snarling as soon as the nurse has left, he almost misses the way Stiles is in the window speaking Polish, if he's not mistaken, with the tiny fae

He tries to greet his packmate aloud but his voice still isn't working. His arms are shaking as he reaches for the wheels to move himself closer despite the pain. Before he has a chance to finish the movement, the chair moves without anyone touching it. The fae, Dreambell or Dreambean, something like that, is making a beckoning motion in his direction.

"Hi Peter!" Stiles grins at him, stepping forward to touch his hand and wrist, a simple brush that is rather soothing. "A hunter from the Argents was here," the hand shifts to brushing along his temple, "I told him to come back at two p.m. tomorrow with his matriarch." There is a burst of concern in the pack link as if worried if was the wrong thing to do.

He sends a burst of warmth through the link, reassuring and comforting. Words might not be back yet, but he can do that much. Privately he's terrified of what can happen. Argent hunters destroyed his entire family, what is to stop them from going after a few humans in the way? He'd panic over his packmate's safety if not for the fact the small fae stays nearby more often than not. The visions are too unreliable to safely use as a means of protection. He can't dwell on that, or his emotions will start to leak across the pack bond. 

Bright eyes watch him, waiting for his focus before the seer starts speaking again. "I was happy that Thom, he's apparently a left hand from the Ronson Pack, showed up right before I talked with dad and Melissa. It meant I could prove werewolves and shifters are real since Cody brought him." There is only a brief pause, "Others are coming, though he didn't say who."

Thom came? Yes, Stiles told him the left hands would be asked to help, but he never thought they would come. What's left of his own family isn't even here, having broken the bond between them. If not for Stiles, he'd be an omega. Not just an omega but a rather dangerous on. The type that he once hunted to protect his pack. 

"You're surprised?" 

He inclines his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Not only is one of the best left hands here, there other others coming? He wonders who and wishes he could ask who the others are? Why they are coming? How long are they staying? There has to be a reason, he's simply having a hard time figuring it out. He blames the pain of healing. 

"You didn't think he'd come, or anyone else for that matter." It's softly spoken, to the point he wouldn't have heard it if he was human, as afterthought or muttered realization. "Why wouldn't they? They're your friends."

If asked before the fire if he had friends, he would have said no. They are left hands, their job is to carry out the justice of their pack and protect them however they are needed. That doesn't build friendship, as they could become enemies, even if thankfully rare. He would have called them contacts, informants, sources of information. Now, now he has determined he needs to review everything he remembers about his fellow left hands and the enforcers that work with them. Perhaps there is more between them then he realized. 

He focuses on his appreciation, making sure it is shared when it's not one he uses often. 

Stiles whiskey amber eyes narrow, brow drawing together, lip bitten as the young seer's head tips. "Oh! Thanks," the expression vanishes into relieved smile, "are you saying thanks for sending Cody after them?"

He inclines his head, warmth and affection filling the bond. Not only for that, but for being here, for becoming his pack when he had no one else, for keeping him sane. There is a lot to give thanks for, even if it's not something he is particularly good at. 

Slender fingers brush a lock of hair away from his face, "We're pack, pack takes care of each other."

Rather than laugh, because his young and new packmate gets it better than the born wolves of what's left of his pack, he focuses on everything positive he can within the bond. It's ironic, he spent years suppressing emotions across the pack bonds to avoid the children feeling his darker moods, yet now he was using that same bond to communicate with a child. For all Stiles is intelligent and acts more adult than any child should, he is still a child. 

At least they can communicate. That's important, and they have it down already, so there will be less chance for them to slip up when the hunters are here. He doesn't like the fact a child will be his voice, even if he understands the necessity of it.

"Want to get in bed?" 

For a moment he considers it, before slowly nodding in agreement, frustration shared between them. He really doesn't want to, however he's exhausted and tomorrow will be a long day with the hunters coming. Thankfully, he has gotten to the point he can mostly stand on his own, if he has a bit if help balancing. Over all thats a relief, as it means he doesn't have to call for help too often. He hates having to ask for help, how slow he's healing, hates everything about this except Stiles. 

The wheelchair moves without his assistance again, it'd be annoying if not for how handy it is. Winds wrap around him when he is next to the bed, the sprite fluttering over to his table, focus absolute on him. It takes effort to shove away from the chair and to pivot so he can sit heavily on the bed. 

"Thanks Dreambells," his packmate murmurs, glancing at the fae, arms flailing as he over turns. "I think the talk with dad and Melissa went good." Stiles frowns, plopping on the edge of the bed, "Mostly. Dad wanted to drink, Grandmother Agata wouldn't let him."

He nods and sends reassurance through the bond.

"They're at the pack property right now, as Melissa wanted to see where Scott and I would be a lot." There's something hesitant about how that's said, the bitterness of worry entering scent. "Thom went with them. I think he's coming here after." The bitterness gets worse. 

Oh, the other wolf has been in his new home before he has, that's concerning his young packmate. That makes sense, though isn't something he needs to be concerned about over all. Wolves don't like others in their home without them, so the fact that there are others there, it could be a problem. It's not though, not at this point. For one thing, he's known Thom for years, and he knows the other wolf isn't going to do something there. Probably checking security more like. For another thing, there has been construction crews in and about, even if fae in nature. It'd be foolish to now be bothered. Unless Stiles thinks the crews are part of the problem? 

Although the bitterness started with Scott. Is Stiles concerned about inviting his closest friend, almost brother, to the pack home? It makes sense that he would. Chances are high the boy will become pack eventually too. He hasn't met the boy yet, but he's heard quite a bit about him. Unless there is something else about Scott that's worrying him? Being able to use his voice would be rather handy at this point. 

Arching a brow, he pushes a combination of acceptance, reassurance, and curiousity through the bond. 

Bouncing, Stiles glances around, the hand closest to him brushing over his. It takes a bit of effort, but he manages to turn his to grab the much smaller hand, squeezing lightly.

Amber eyes meet his and his packmate mutters, "Scott's, well, uh, he didn't believe me when I tried telling him I can See." Squeezing back, voice a bit clearer, "I don't know how well he'll take shape changers."

That could be a bit of a problem for a kid within a pack. Though belonging to a pack might make it easier for him to accept. No way to know until it happens unfortunately. 

He nods, sending more reassurance. Before anything more can be said, he picks up the scent of a fellow wolf, soft and barely there. Ah, Thom is here, or nearing here. 

"You smell like shit, Peter," the other wolf declares as he slips into the room, barely pausing long enough to tap on the door. "Look like it too."

The hand not touching Stiles' is used to flip the left hand off, earning him a giggle from his young packmate.

"Your humans are waiting for you outside," amber eyes focus on the child as he speaks, something speculative in them.

Nodding, Stiles gives his hand a quick squeeze, "I'll see you tomorrow before they are due here. Grandmother and Bazyli will be with me."

He smiles, filling their pack bond with warmth.

Like a flash, his packmate is gone, a quick grin at Thom before he's out the door. The hummingbird fast heart beat fades.

"Are you staying the evening wolf?" Dreambells demands, bringing themselves back into focus.

How did he miss that the sprite is still here? Particularly as he knows that sprites can be dangerous at the best of times.

Thom doesn't jerk, but it's rather close, his fellow left hand's nose flares, eyes narrowing to thin slits, teeth bared in silent threat. 

"Well? If you are here to guard, I have things to do."

"Go," the wolf growls, fingers twitching. 

He's surprised that his friend is so angry, normally it takes more to rile him. 

The sprite flies closer, sniffing the air, hands flashing and glowing, "Make sure that pendant touches your skin, wolf, so it will work. Then I shall."

Thom blinks, scent bitter with confusion as the anger fades a bit. He listens though, moving a small necklace so it's fully against his skin rather than between shirts.

"Keep it there wolf, until the Seers say otherwise." The sprite orders before vanishing in a puff.

"There's something in the air, itching just below the surface, like a bug I feel but can't find." Thom mutters, touching the small spiral pendant lightly, brows drawn close together and eyes narrow. "I don't know what's going on but whatever it is, it's not good. I think the old woman knows though." 

He nods slowly, having wondered in the past if something was making things worse here, drawing in creatures of violence and greed. Talia thought him wrong when he mentioned his concerns, certain that Deaton would have noticed as a druid. He's not so sure. The druid was loyal enough, but not bonded to the pack the way his predecessor had been. Nor is he tied to the land intimately. Unless whatever is causing the itch caused Deaton blindness of what is happening?

"Rest Peter, I'll keep watch, I have a feeling it will be needed for tomorrow." Thom suggests, drawing him temporarily from his thoughts. 

Nodding, he slides down a bit on the bed, focusing on the problem once more and what can be done. 


	14. Uneasy Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations between the Argents and Hales, fun times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya all! I hope you have been well. I've been writing more lately, even managed to update a few of my older fics (Bond and Sherlock, respectively), and have written a bunch of Witcher fic that will be released sooner or later around dealing with Murphy's Law, migraines, and seasonal allergies. I love all of the comments and will be replying to them one of these day, thank all of you so much, you give me the umph to keep going when my depression acts up.

Peter's POV

He doesn't sleep all that well, though he sleeps better than when he's completely alone. It helps that he knows he's safe with a fellow left hand watching over him. Very little would challenge a wolf trained as such. That's probably part of why their family was attacked the way they were, from the shadows and without warning.

Thankfully, Thom doesn't say much as he chokes down his breakfast. At least he can feed himself for the most part. There are some bits he can't do yet, like cut meats and thick breads, but he's getting better about it. Not that it really matters, most the foods they've given him have been the softest and easiest to eat. 

It is nearing lunch when he motions towards the private bathroom and sniffs the air, glancing at himself. 

Chuckling, his friend murmurs, "A shower?" 

He nods once sharply, pleased to be understood.

The next bit flies by. It's refreshing and exhausting equal measures. Freshly scrubbed and clean clothing do wonders for settling his nerves. His nose twitches, catching the familiar scents of pack and petrichor in the fabric. Stiles must have brought these for him. He doesn't pay attention to the regular smells that fill day to day life, instead he takes in the new scents. 

It's two minutes to two pm when his young packmate comes bouncing in, two adults not far behind, though they knocked first. 

"Hi Peter! Sorry, later than expected," Stiles greets him with a wide smile, bounding over to brush a hand over his. "Sorta my fault. Not completely though."

He sends amusement though the pack bond.

The man, a dwarf if his senses aren't wrong, opens his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again when he sees the clock, turning towards the door with a frown. 

"Relax Bazyli, the hunters will be here in three minutes. They hit every red light." There is amusement in the woman's tone as she walks over to the visitor seat to sit down. "I am Grandmother Agata, this is my long time friend and solicitor Bazyli."

If not for her fae blood, he wouldn't have believed she's Stiles' grandmother. He's aware that fae don't age like mortals, particularly if they live in the Other World. There's only the slightest hints of familiarity to her scent, though it is enough he is able to recognize the blood connection between them. One leg is crossed over the other at the knee, hands resting on her knees as she surveys the room, attention mostly on the door.

Bazyli goes over to the window, frowning out it before a chair materializes beside him.

"Might as well get comfortable, they're on their way up, and there will be notes to be taken," she remarks without glancing at the dwarf. Instead, her gaze locks on him. "Are you ready Hale?"

He nods once, glaring at her.

"Good."

Stiles clamors up on the bed beside him, settling cross legged, slouching a bit, and holding almost still except his hands. His amber eyes are wide as he wait, fingers dancing over his shins as they tap out a beat. Every fifth tp, a hand reaches out to touch him absently, as if confirming he's still there.

He sends reassurance to his packmate, this really isn't something he likes the idea of a child at. Still, he understands why, since Stiles is the one he has the clearest communication with.

Warmth floods the bond in return as there is a solid knock at the door.

"Enter in peace Argents." Grandmother Agata orders quietly.

Do humans hear that softly? He wonders as the door opens slowly, three hunters entering, the last closing the door.

There's a soft pop, as if a bubble is raised around the room. It makes his ears ache. Thom's too, if the barely there flinch he catches out of the corner of his eye is anything to go by.

"The representatives of the Hale Pack and the Argent Clan are present. I, Bazyli Baran of the Tatra Mountains, shall record all notes and make copies for both to retain, along with the Record Keeper." The dwarf announces formally.

He studies the three hunters. Two he recognizes as Victoria and Christopher Argent. The third he does not know.

Stiles' back straightens, the black irises turning burnished gold as they lock onto the trio. "We're going to skip the part where you offer money. At least for _us_."

Victoria inclines her head in acknowledgement.

"Us?" Christopher repeats under his breath, scowling.

"Your family, while you headed it destroyed multiple packs for nothing more than daring to live. Money doesn't come close to making reparations." He's not used to how cold Stiles' voice is. Generally his packmate is energetic and upbeat.

"I did not learn of it until Gerard was arrested." She replies evenly, not making excuses for the fact she didn't know what her own clan was doing.

Shrugging, the child's eyes flicker between the Argents before meeting his briefly.

He flashes his, keeping his rage from the pack bond as he has discovered it can be a bit more than Stiles can easily deal with.

"If I was here as a fae, and not a member of a pack, blood cost would demand your family be equally destroyed." His packmate remarks absently, the amber gleaming. "Instead, I think this will be worse."

"Worse than the death of two thirds my family?" Victoria demands icily.

What would be worse? He muses, not having asked what the reparations price will be, but knowing it will involve at minimum Christopher. At least, if that vision of the pack home in the future is anything to go by it does. He focuses on reassuring Stiles for a moment, to make sure his young packmate knows it's fine to continue.

Nodding, Stiles takes a breath to answer. "Yes. Monday morning you shall file for divorce with Christopher Argent, you will retain your place as matriarch but he shall no longer belong to the Argent Clan."

She hiss angrily under her breath. "If I don't?" she bites out.

"Then as a Seer of the Other World, with ties to the Hale Pack and the lands around here, I will take it to the Furies." Grandmother Agata announces calmly. "Do not interrupt again, he will finish the list, then you may discuss the demands."

The Furies, he controls his outward expression though he is sure Thom can smell his shock. Aren't they only members of the Greek Pantheon? Only able to be called on by those of those beliefs? Unless it is a universal name for their type of being? That's possible since the Greek name is Erinyes, and there is a Roman version as well. Are there other versions?

Victoria nods once sharply.

"Right, where were we, oh yeah. Divorce on Monday. By Friday Allison and Christopher Argent will have moved into the new pack home. Their ties to the Argent clan severed." Stiles nods as he counts with his fingers it seems. "All members of the Argent Clan will be retrained to hunt only those who have broken the code proper. In a different timeline Allison is the one who creates it: _Nous protégèons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_." It's rather obvious that his young packmate doesn't speak French. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves."

He questions who the new code refers to. Is it only for humans or any who are unable to protect themselves? With a combination of a frown, head tip, and burst of curiosity on the pack link, he asks.

"I'll explain in a bit, gotta get through the list, so not to forget." Stiles answers him, glancing over to meet his gaze. "Divorce, moving, code, there was one other thing... Oh! Each hunter of the Argent Clan must swear under Blood Binding by the new code in both words and spirit."

"No." There's fury filling the air as the matriarch of the Argent Clan snaps.

"Can you be more specific which condition you are refusing?" the dwarf requests, looking up from his note taking.

"All of it. No." Victoria replies, glaring at Stiles.

A burst of worry, and a little pain flares through the pack link, vanishing as fast as it appeared. Carefully, he brushes a hand against the young seer's and sends reassurance.

"That's not an option," Stiles shrugs, hands spreading out and upwards facing. "Wanna try again? I did say it would be worse for you then death."

"May we take a moment to discuss it?" Christopher requests surprisingly evenly over all.

Nodding, his young packmate waves towards a corner of the room.

The three Argents step over there, quietly speaking to each other in rapid fire French. He'd try translating it except he's too tired. The main point they seem to be arguing about is Allison. Although the unknown hunter has an issue with the blood binding.

Stiles wiggles in place, reaching out to run a hand along his leg and tap his finger tips.

He smiles at the energy spiking through, pleased to see it returning since he doesn't like the coldness that has radiated from his packmate.

Eventually the three return to their original positions.

Victoria lifts her head and narrows her eyes, "I agree to the change in oath and the divorce. I do not agree with Allison moving out or the Blood Binding."

Stiles stands up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Split custody, Christopher has her in the school year, you have her in the summer. She retains her place as Argent Heir but is also raised as a pack member."

The married hunters glance at each other, an entire conversation in expressions flashes between them.

"Not acceptable either. Every other week switch off, important holidays negotiated." Victoria counters, "She stays the Argent Heir and becomes a member of the Hale Pack not to be bitten."

He recognizes the gleam in amber eyes that says Stiles got exactly what he was after. "Agreed! Blood Binding is not optional. All Argents not willing to swear to stop hunting those who have harmed none must stop being hunters. Not just move to a different family."

The pair have a staring contest. Fiery amber eyes locked onto icy pale gray. He's not actually sure which is going to win as the tensions rise, the scent of annoyance filling the air. A quick glance at Thom shows the left hand is on edge as the pair glare at each other.

"Might I suggest a compromise?" Bazyli queries, glancing at him for permission to continue.

He nods, curious what the dwarf suggests.

"Rather than all of them do Blood Bindings, which are rather severe, all must swear under blood oath to keep the Code. It is similar but slightly different."

Blood oaths are still a dangerous thing to take when dealing with a fae, but not quite as dangerous. It'd be acceptable, mostly. He'd prefer the concept of the binding, the price for breaking that is much steeper. Still, he can accept this as an alternate.

"That'd work for us!" Stiles chirps without breaking eye contract.

Victoria glances at Christopher, "Agreed."

"Recapping! To make sure we're all on the same page: you two get a divorce on Monday. By Friday he moves in, and Allison has her own room for the every other week she will be spending at the pack home. Holidays to be negotiated as they occur, but both get an equal amount of them. All Argents get to swear a blood oath to the new code, we protect those who cannot protect themselves." His packmate glances between each of the adults as if checking to see if he missed anything.

"That means, Argent, that your people will protect anyone of any species who cannot protect themselves. Even from other hunters who kill without justification." Grandmother Agata states, watching the matriarch of the hunting family.

Taking a deep breath, Victoria nods once slowly. "I agree to those terms."

"Great! Now please turn your attention to Grandmother Agata for the next bit, reparations to the other packs that have been harmed since you became matriarch!" Stiles dances in place for a bit before settling back down beside him on the bed, leaning into him and smelling of exhaustion.

He's proud, sharing warmth through their pack bond even as he considers the fact he apparently will have two different Argents in the pack from now on. On one hand he wishes he would have known a bit more. They aren't nearly as blood thirsty as he would have preferred. Yet the terms reached are definitely steep for the Argents. They'll send a message to all other hunting families. Yes, he'll be able to live with them. Particularly as the next Argent matriarch is apparently going to be raised pack, that alone is fitting, she will never be what their family history demands, and will change the way the hunters work.


End file.
